


Christmas Is For Sex (and Love), So Give It To Me

by GoldenTruth813



Series: Good Boy Series [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal penetration with a foreign object, Blowjobs, Bondage, Butt Plugs, Candy Canes, Christmas, Clubbing, Dirty Talk, Drunk confessions, Edging, Established Relationship, Fingering, Harry in Lingerie, Ice Play, Lingerie, M/M, Masterbation, Nipple Clamps, Overstimulation, PWP, Praise Kink, Public Sex, Rimming, Switching, Topping from the Bottom, Wax Play, anal penetration, babysitting teddy, bubble baths, but lots of sex too, coming without touching, erotic massages, floating blow jobs, french!draco, healing past trauma, making gingerbread houses, misuse of brandy custard, misuse of candy canes, misuse of christmas candles, misuse of fairy lights, misuse of frosting, misuse of snowballs, naughty letters, really so much more than sex, sex with feelings, spiked hot cocoa, veritasium
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-07 20:18:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 53,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12848739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenTruth813/pseuds/GoldenTruth813
Summary: Draco buys Harry an Advent House, intent on helping Harry create all new holiday memories, and have a lot of great sex in the process.





	1. 1 December

**Author's Note:**

> This is an Advent fic completely devoid of plot and used solely as an excuse for established relationship kinky smut. It is a sequel to Have You Been A Good Boy, but you do not need to have read that to understand this. This started out as "I'm just gonna write some kinky Christmas" and evolved into lots of sex with feelings, relationship growth, healing some of Harry's childhood trauma and lovely friendships.
> 
>  
> 
> So many thanks to Jadepresley for betaing this fic and her words of encouragement, and for justanotherdrarryblog for holding my hand through all my mini panic attacks about writing something this long.

The first thing Harry notices when he gets home from work is that Draco has already decorated their flat for Christmas, and he smiles, picturing Draco humming to himself as he hung the stockings and strung up the garland. There are still a few half-opened boxes strewn across the living room, a warm fire crackling in the hearth, and the Wireless is playing softly from the kitchen. It makes something in Harry’s chest feel tight and a bit uneven; even after nearly six months of living together he isn’t sure he will even get used to the feeling of coming home, of knowing this place is theirs; of feeling like he belongs.

“Draco,” he calls out, untangling his feet from the box of decorations he apparated directly into, frowning at a particularly stubborn bit of tinsel stuck his robes. He feels his face heat up when he remembers where the rest of that tinsel went to last year...  

When he doesn’t get a response he peeks into the kitchen, but Draco isn’t there either. Harry grabs a lemon biscuit from the open tin on the counter, practically inhaling it as he walks down the hallway to the bedroom.

He stops, pushing the door open slowly, and he feels an overwhelming sense of tenderness at the picture Draco makes, stood bent over something Harry can’t see in the corner of the room. He’s muttering quietly under his breath, his wand in hand and Harry just leans against the doorway watching.  

When Draco turns around a few minutes later he jumps, frowning at Harry. “Merlin’s balls, must you sneak up on me like that.”

“I’m not sure it can be called sneaking when I loudly tripped over a box of baubles and tinsel and shouted your name,” Harry replies, unable to hide the fondness from his voice.

Draco rolls his eyes, moving to stand in front of the thing in the corner, immediately piquing Harry’s interest.

“What is it?”

“What’s what?”

This time it's Harry’s turn to roll his eyes as he walks across the room.  “The thing you’ve been enchanting. You know, the thing you’re currently blocking.”

“Ah that. It’s a surprise.”

“A surprise… for me?”

“No, it’s for Weasley,” Draco drawls sarcastically.“Of course, it’s for you.”

“Oh,” Harry whispers, feeling a bit dizzy at the realization of how much it means to him. He doesn’t even know what it is, but the idea of Draco taking time to do something just for him makes him feel too many things all at once.   

Draco moves aside, clearly meaning to show Harry what the surprise is, but Harry doesn’t even look; just slams Draco back against the wall and kisses him, sucking on his bottom lip and pulling him as closely as humanly possible. When Harry finally pulls back he’s pleased to find a flush spreading across Draco’s face, feels that tightness in his chest again knowing he’s the one who put it there.

“Had I known it was so easy to please you I would’ve started giving you surprises a long time ago,” Draco teases, his right hand stroking the skin below Harry’s jumper, and he wonders when Draco opened his robe without him even noticing.  “Don’t you want to see what it is?”

Harry nods, forcing himself to turn away from Draco to look. Whatever he is expecting to find, it isn’t this. Sitting on a small table is a rather large wooden house with twenty-four little doors.  It’s even painted in cheerful Christmas colors, with little trees and snitches on it.

“It’s an advent.”

“Well spotted, Mr. Auror. Your powers of deduction are astute as always,” Draco laughs, wrapping himself around Harry from behind and resting his chin on Harry’s shoulder.

“Dudley had one.”

“I know,” Draco whispers.

Harry is flooded with memories of his childhood, of watching Dudley every December. Of knowing he was not a part of their family, not really. Knowing whatever traditions they had would never be his.  

“Aren’t you gonna open it?”  Draco’s voice is warm and solid, and he pushes the memories aside as he reaches for the door with a gold number one painted on the front. It’s small - the smallest one of them all - and he wonders what’s inside. Draco doesn’t say anything about how it seems to take Harry, just waits patiently.

When Harry finally opens the small door he almost thinks it’s empty inside, a brief moment of panic assaulting him before he reminds himself that Draco would never do that. He slides his fingers inside, feels something incredibly soft and pulls it out, surprised to see a single string of soft, red velvet ribbon.

“Ummm… thanks.”

He can feel Draco smiling against his neck. “It’s ribbon.”

“Funnily enough I did notice that,” Harry answers. He’s finding it hard to think straight with the way Draco’s cock is pressing into his back, while Draco’s hands slide down his chest to cup his cock through the fabric of his trousers.

“Did you now? Very good. What else did you notice about it?”

Harry tries hard to think, but then Draco is sucking his ear into his mouth and instead of words a moan is what comes out instead.

Then its Draco’s turn to push Harry against the wall, ridding him of his clothing with a casual flick of his wand before his dropping to his knees, kissing Harry’s hipbone and mouthing at the dark patch of hair above his cock. “Ribbon is good for tying presents you see. And I know exactly what present I want. Be a good boy and give me the ribbon, Harry.”

“Oh, fuck,” Harry groans, making Draco grin.  

“Not exactly, love.” And then he’s taking the ribbon, dragging it along Harry’s cock before wrapping it snugly around the base, taking an achingly long time to tie the ribbon in a perfect bow.  Harry has to bite his lip from crying out, feeling the velvet slide across balls as Draco ties it. It’s tight, tight enough that Harry won’t be able to forget it’s there.

Harry doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he slides his fingers into Draco’s hair, feeling his cock get even harder at the way Draco leans into his touch, turning his eyes up to stare at Harry as Draco engulfs his cock with his mouth. Harry groans, loving the feeling of Draco’s mouth on his cock, the way Draco knows exactly how to suck as his fingers drag along Harry’s thighs.

Harry almost wants it to last forever, but something in Draco’s touch makes him want to let go, and then it's over faster than he’d like and he’s coming down Draco’s throat.  Draco just hums, sucking him dry until Harry is sliding down the wall to fall to the floor in a graceless heap.

“Fuck,” Harry mumbles again, for lack of anything else to say. Draco just grins, his hair falling into his eyes as he leans over Harry and wraps his fingers around his own cock. Then Draco is peppering Harry’s face with kisses, rutting against him, and Harry hisses, his sensitive cock feeling overstimulated as Draco’s rubs against his own.The ribbon rubs back and forth now that his cock has softened, and it's no longer so tight. Harry entertains the idea of helping, and he lifts a hand, but Draco shakes his head, pushing it away as he sucks on Harry’s neck, practically humping him against the wall, and then he’s shuddering, his come soaking the ribbon and splattering across Harry’s belly.

It's a few minutes before Draco catches his breath, at which point he finally unties the soiled ribbon and holds it up in front of Harry. “Wanna keep your present?”

“Yeah, I do,” he whispers, reaching out and pulling Draco in for another kiss


	2. 2 December

Harry does his best to focus on his job the next day. It’s mostly boring paperwork and reports he needs to catch up on, nothing life or death at least, but by four o'clock he gives up for the day completely. He’s had to magically erase so many mistakes that he’s surprised he can remember how to sign his own name.

He knows it's ridiculous, but he can’t stop thinking about the advent. He’d stayed up half the night staring at the little house in the corner of the room, feeling overwhelmed for more reasons than he cares to admit. He doesn’t even know what time he finally fell asleep, just knows he’d woken up feeling cranky and off center, and it had only gotten worse from there.

Draco won’t be home for another forty minutes though, and Harry isn’t sure what to do. He knows what he wants to do; he wants to go home and open the advent. Draco hadn’t technically told Harry to wait for him, after all. But he doesn't know what will be inside, and he feels like he should wait and he knows he won’t be able to resist if he goes home.

In the end, though, he makes it nineteen minutes before he can no longer pace his tiny office, and he apparates home, directly into their bedroom. He then makes it exactly four minutes and thirty-nine seconds before he moves to the corner, eagerly seeking out the door with a number two. He hesitates, his fingers touching the small wooden handle, and he jumps when he hears the sound of Draco apparating home early, as if he will be caught doing something naughty, which only serves to bring up a whole new set of images in his brain. When Draco finds his way into the bedroom a few minutes later Harry is sitting on the edge of the bed, half hard and trying not to blush.

“Eager much?” Draco says with a wink, hanging his robe on a hook by the wall.

“Fuck off.”

“Wouldn’t you rather I fuck you?”

“Is that what I get today?”

Draco’s expression softens into something far less teasing as he moves to sit beside Harry. “It’s what you get whenever you want it. The advent… is something else. Something extra. Something special. If you want it.”

Harry doesn't look up, but he squeezes Draco’s hand. “I want it.”

Something seems to relax in Draco and he smiles. “Good, then open it.”

Harry stands, moving to the small house and opening the door he’s been staring at for the last ten minutes. It’s bigger than the day before, though not by much, and Harry can see something small inside it. He reaches in, pulling out a small vial, though of what he has no idea. He pulls the stopper off, inhaling the aroma and smiling. It smells like pine and the air after fresh snow; it smells like Christmas.  

“What is it?” he asks, his tension already melting away with the familiar scent.

“Oil.”

“For what?”

“Take your clothes off and lay down on the bed, on your stomach,” Draco instructs.

Harry doesn’t ask why, doesnt even really care, because anything that involves being naked with Draco is always a good idea in his book.  

He rests his head on his folded arms, listening to the sounds of Draco disrobing before he feels the bed dip with the other man’s weight. Without the aid of looking he feels hyper-aware of everything; the way Draco’s thigh muscles feel as he straddles Harry’s legs sitting just below his arse, and the way the vial makes a popping sound when Draco uncorks it. Harry is expecting the oil on his arse, so he’s a bit surprised to feel Draco drizzling it across his shoulders.

“What are you doing?”

“Just relax, okay? Let me make you feel good.”

“You always make me feel good,” Harry murmurs, unable to stop the sigh that escapes his lips as Draco’s capable hands begin kneading through the tense muscles in his upper back. Fuck it feels good, he thinks, trying to keep his sounds to a minimum. He's never had someone touch him quite like this. Sure, Draco has given him a neck rub, or even massaged his lower back, but that was nothing like this.  

Harry feels acutely aware of every part of his body, finally abandoning all pretenses of being quiet when Draco gently pulls his arms out to the sides and rubs his hands up and down them, paying particular attention to the insides of his wrists and his fingers. Once he's done both sides Draco moves down the bed, drizzling more oil down Harry’s legs and digging his hands into the tight muscles of his thighs. It takes every ounce of self-control Harry possesses not to lift his hips and expose himself to Draco and beg to fucked.  

“Roll over,” Draco murmurs, and when Harry doesn't react Draco gently nudges him, rolling him halfway over until Harry finishes with an unsophisticated groan. He flings his arms across his face, feeling oddly vulnerable as Draco begins to lavish an ungodly amount of attention to his ankles, digging his thumbs forcefully into the arch of Harry’s foot before circling his ankle bone softly.  

“Does that feel good?” Draco asks him, and it takes Harry a good minute or two before he can make any kind of coherent response.

“You know it does.”

“Oh, do I?  You know what else I know?”

“Hmmm?”

“Did you know that there are all kinds of erotic massages, and if done correctly they can make you come without me ever touching your cock? Would you like that?”

“You touching me is the best part.”

Draco laughs, deep and uninhibited, as he crawls up the bed. “Oh don't worry; I plan on touching you. Just not your cock.”

Harry means to protest that it doesn't seem quite fair because he was quite looking forward to that part, but then Draco is taking one of Harry’s ears in each of his hands and rubbing them with well oiled fingers, the smell of pine filling his senses, and he wants to scream because something like his ears shouldn’t feel so fucking amazing. Harry feels somehow utterly relaxed and completely keyed up by the time Draco moves down, his hands softly drifting across Harry’s chest before Draco is pressing his nipples down, encircling them with his fingers.

The silence in the room is broken only by the moans, and it makes Harry feel better when he realizes some of them are coming from Draco. He glances down, his own cock twitching when he notices how hard Draco is.

He has to bite his lip from begging, fighting back the words on the tip of his tongue as Draco’s warm, slick fingers dig into his hips. He doesn't even need to look to know Draco is staring at his tattoo, a recent addiction that Harry could have never predicted Draco would be so obsessed with. It’s a small snitch, just the size of a knut, but Draco still always finds a way to touch it. As his ministrations continue, fingers massaging the flesh at his sides and a thumb pressing firmly into the wings of his tattoo, all Harry can think is that it should be illegal to have hands like that. He finally closes his eyes, unable to watch the lines of concentration spread across Draco’s face as his fingers work into the line of muscles just beneath his hip bones.

When Draco leans down over Harry he lets out a sound he would be embarrassed by if he weren't so equally aroused and content. His body is nearly thrumming with need, and when Draco's hands find their way along his sides - finding their way underneath Harry to lavish attention on the small area at the base of his spine that Draco knows makes Harry crazy - well Harry can't stand it any longer. Something in him snaps, and he's wrapping his legs around Draco, arching up into him and nearly screaming as their cocks slide together.  

“Fucking impatient wanker,” Draco yells, but the moan that escapes his lips after and the frantic rutting of his hips let Harry know he isn't all that bothered.

“No man has that much self-control. Fuck you,” Harry counters, the heel of his foot digging into Draco’s arse as they move together.  

“I do.”

“Do... ugghnh, fucking fuck that that feels good! Fuck, you do not.”

“Do, fucking too,” Draco manages to get out, his slick hands touching Harry everywhere possible.  

“Then stop touching me,” Harry taunts, realizing belatedly that it's probably counter-intuitive at the moment, but unable to ever let Draco win an argument - even during sex.

“I could… if I wanted to,” Draco says with a lascivious grin, reaching down to wrap both his hands around their cocks. “I just don't want to.”

“Fucking fuck,” Harry finally screams, feeling his orgasm hit hard and fast. Draco comes a few moments later, falling down on top of Harry with a slightly undignified groan.  

The entire room smells like Christmas trees and sex, and Harry is quite sure he won't be able to look at their tree or anyone else's the same ever again.  


	3. 3 December

Harry spends a good chunk of his morning giving Draco furtive looks across the breakfast table, and wondering what might be in the advent door today. Unfortunately — or perhaps fortunately for him — once he gets into work he has absolutely no time to think about it at all.

The Department is swamped with requests for Auror assistance, mostly over the smallest things. He gets two requests for help over a hex gone wrong when someone apparently tricked another customer who was trying to steal the last pack of Exploding Snap cards, one call about a lost kneazle — and Harry doesn’t quite understand how it got forwarded to his desk and not the office for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures — and a report of at least a dozen muggles who had to be obliviated after a drunk wizard tried to transfigure himself into a living Christmas tree in the middle of Bond Street.

By the time he gets home he’s exhausted, starving, and more than a bit cranky.  

“Kneazle got your tongue?” Draco asks a bit later when Harry makes no attempt to speak over dinner.

“Very funny.”

“Yes, well between you and me, I always did hold the superior sense of humor.” Harry’s annoyance begins to slip away and he bites back a smile.

“Wanker.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“What are you, twelve?” Harry barks out, unable to hold back his smile any longer.

“Hardly; twelve-year-old me would have died at the idea of you and I having dinner together like an old married couple.” Despite Draco rolling his eyes, it doesn’t escape Harry’s notice that Draco looks particularly pleased, and he doesn’t think it has anything to do with the three glasses of wine he’s already drunk.

“Pretty sure twelve-year old you had a crush on twelve-year-old  _me_.”

“Hardly, you were a scrawny git with absolutely no self-preservation skills and a short temper. Actually, come to think of it that still describes you, but... what the fuck!”  Draco shouts when a roll comes sailing across the table and hits him square in the face. Harry just snickers, trying to look innocent. “See what I mean!  Honestly, I don’t know how I put up with you, you’re such a pain in my arse, Potter.”

“You could be a pain in my arse if you wanted,” Harry says with a grin, stealing the rest of Draco’s wine and drinking it down in one gulp.

“I’m sorry, was that supposed to be a pick up line? That was atrocious.”

Harry shrugs. “I don’t have to pick you up, you’re already mine.” He means it sound offhanded but it comes out sounding more possessive than he’d meant it too.

The look Draco shoots him is full of something that makes Harry feel a bit drunk, even though he’s only had half a glass of wine.  

“Right, well I think dinner is done,” Draco mumbles, throwing his napkin on the table, practically dragging Harry down the hallway and into their room.  

“Eager much?” Harry teases, nipping at Draco’s ear as Draco pushes him towards the advent house. Draco doesn’t answer, and Harry feels a familiar sense of excitement rush over him as he opens the third door, his fingers closing around something small and metal. He pulls them out, a jingling sound filling the air.

“Bells.”

“Ten points to Gryffindor.”

Harry turns them over in his hand. They’re relatively small and both of them are attached to some sort of clip. He’s about to ask what they’re for when Draco comes up behind him, divesting him of his clothing. Harry figures he’d rather see what they’re for than hear the explanation anyway, so he goes easily, returning the favor and removing Draco’s clothing as well. And for a few minutes Harry forgets all about the bells because all he cares about is Draco’s hands and lips and smooth skin, tasting and touching, and he lets out a low moan when Draco starts to suck one of his nipples into his mouth, rubbing the other one between his fingers until they’re both hard and firm.

It takes Harry a moment to realize the pressure he can feel is no longer coming from Draco’s mouth or fingers but the bells now clamped tightly to his nipples. Oh. It feels different, the pressure staying there as Draco’s hands move lower, and then with no warning Draco's slick fingers are sliding into his arse and fuck that feels good. It doesn't hurt exactly, at least not in a bad way; it's a dull pain making him hyper-aware of everything else. It’s almost like Draco is still squeezing his nipples, but then there are fingers stretching him fast and hard, and another hand holding his hip, and Harry can't stop the movements of his body, feeling oddly turned on by the way the bells jingle as he fucks Draco’s fingers.

“Draco,” he whimpers, when the fingers are gone, but then Draco is crawling back on the bed, locking eyes with Harry. He slicks up his own cock with lube and then lays on the bed waiting. It takes only two seconds before Harry is scrambling across the bed, straddling Draco and sinking down onto his cock. And then there are so many noises Harry doesn’t even know how to differentiate them all; the sound of skin slapping and desperate whimpers, and he’s not sure if it's him or Draco begging as the bells start ringing so loud it nearly drowns everything out. And Harry can’t control himself or slow his pace; he just uses his hands on Draco’s chest to brace himself as he relentlessly fucks himself on Draco’s cock.

Draco comes first, his back arching up off the bed and his hands digging into Harry’s thighs.  Harry watches him come with a rush of satisfaction, giving into temptation and wrapping his hand around his own cock. It only takes a few purposeful strokes before he too is coming, collapsing on top of Draco in a mess of sweat and stickiness.

They lay there like that for a long time, Draco drawing circles on Harry’s back, neither of them moving, before Harry shifts and groans. “Ouch,” he mumbles, his nipples incredibly sensitive as his chest rubs against Draco’s.

Draco just smiles at him, gently removing each bell. He holds them up and smirks at Harry. “Ring a ling, hear him ring… soon it will be Christmas day.”

“Wanker,” Harry says with a shake of his head, leaning down to steal another kiss and stop Draco from singing the entire Silver Bells song to him.


	4. 4 December

**4 December -**

The morning of December fourth Draco wakes Harry up with a quick kiss, nearly rolling him right out of the bed with a half mumbled, “Get up you lazy sod, you’re going to be late.” **  
**

Harry just groans, rubbing his face and stumbling into the shower, bleary-eyed and half asleep.  Emerging ten minutes later, no happier to be awake but much more alert, he finds Draco already dressed.

Moving to stand in front of his wardrobe he drops his towel, about to get dressed when Draco walks up behind him suddenly. Draco’s belt is pressing firmly into the small of his back, and Harry can smell the scent of sun on his freshly laundered shirt, and feel the soft material of Draco’s wool pants against the backs of his thighs. Harry smiles to himself, dropping his head back on Draco’s shoulder as Draco rubs small circles on his belly.

“We don’t have time this morning,” he murmurs.

“I know that you dolt,” Draco says, voice oddly strained. “I want you to open the door this morning though.  Before you go to work.”

“Before? But-”

“Just open it.”

“Alright,” Harry answers, feeling Draco’s eyes on his body as he strides across the room, his skin tingling with the weight of Draco’s stare. With a deep sense of curiosity, Harry searches for door number four, finding it on the very bottom corner. There’s a small snitch painted on the door, and Harry opens it slowly, a slight frown appearing on his face when he pulls out what appears to be a pair of ladies red silk panties.  

Harry doesn’t want to turn around just yet, isn't sure he can look at Draco with the strange sense of embarrassment and lust swirling through him. They've done a lot of things together but this is not one of them. Draco has never said anything about something like this, and while Harry doesn't think it's something he would have asked for on his own, he finds the idea oddly thrilling, if only for sheer knowledge that maybe he shouldn't.  

Almost as if sensing his jumbled thoughts, Draco is there, solid and reassuring as he places his hands on Harry’s shoulders and turns him around, nuzzling his face into Harry’s neck. “I want you to wear them today, under your robes. I want you to feel the silk against your prick while you’re bossing people around all day and think about what I’m going to do to you when you get home.”

“Fuck,” Harry groans, his right hand clenched around the lingerie so tightly Draco has to pry it out. Once he does, Draco just watches him, dropping to his knees and holding them out, opening the leg holes and licking his lips as he waits.  

Harry feels absolutely ridiculous stepping into a pair of ladies panties, but something about Draco’s strong fingers ghosting up his legs as the cool silk slides up is enough to override any hesitation he feels. Even though Harry is the one standing in the bedroom in nothing big a pair of women’s underwear that are easily a size too small, his half hard cock already struggling against the fabric and his arse barely covered, it's Draco who looks exposed.  

He thinks that while Harry might be the one wearing the gift, this one was for Draco. It makes Harry feel powerful in a way that seems like it shouldn't. So he takes an extra long time dressing, winking at Draco when he’s done, pleased to realize he won't be the only one having trouble focusing at work today.  

As the day goes on Harry has to wonder who exactly designs women's underpants because they don't seem very practical. The material isn't something he is used to in the least, and he finds himself having to adjust them all day as they start to slide off, and every time he does the fabric slides against his arse or his cock, which manages to stay at least half hard all day.  

Draco sends him an owl at lunch with a piece of rolled up parchment that simply reads Mine. It is tied with a single piece of red silk.  

Harry spends the remainder of the day hard and eternally thankful that wizards wear robes.

He's barely home two seconds before Draco is slamming into him, knocking him down to the couch and kissing him, his hands moving everywhere trying to get Harry’s robes off as fast as humanly possible, which is made slightly difficult by the fact that Harry has no desire to stop sucking on Draco’s neck or touching him.

“Do you have any idea how hard it was to give a presentation on the possible long-term detrimental effects of Unforgivable curses when all I could think about was the way you looked this morning?”

“How did I look?” Harry whispers against Draco’s neck, unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt and pushing it aside to lick along the sharp ridges of his collarbone.  

“Like sex. I wanted to fuck you until you couldn't remember your name. Do you have any idea what you looked like? Fuck, all that skin and muscle, those strong thighs, and you were wearing that for me. No one else will ever have any idea how you look like that. I'm the only fucking one who ever gets to see you like that.”

“Fuck, Draco.”

“You're mine, Harry. Mine.”

Harry’s head swims, his chest heaving, and it's all he can do just to keep his eyes open because Draco doesn't do this very often. Sure; it's there in his touches, in the way he fucks Harry, but the words are something rare — something that makes Harry want to do anything for him. He'd never known he wanted to belong to someone so desperately until the first time Draco had whispered those words against his skin.  

“Don't… Just leave... Leave them on. Please,” Draco whispers, his hair a mess and his face flushed as he puts his hands on Harry’s to stop him from taking the knickers off.  

Harry doesn't trust himself to speak, so instead he nods. Draco looks so much less controlled than usual and Harry knows neither of them are going to last very long.

Draco shifts his body, putting all of his weight on the left side of his body as he leans over Harry, his fingers sliding inside the silky fabric and curling around Harry’s cock. His movements are jerky and desperate as he huffs. There's a soft flush spreading across his neck and Harry leans up to explore it with his mouth, feeling Draco’s Adam’s apple bob beneath his tongue at the same time Draco drags his finger across the slit of Harry’s cock.  

“Harry, oh Harry,” Draco breathes out, almost reverently, and Harry then is coming, dropping down into the sofa with a groan.  

He can't take his eyes off Draco, reaching up to stroke his thumb across Draco’s cheek. But as his hand moves lower, Draco shakes his head and grasps Harry’s wrist with shaking fingers.

It's on the tip of his tongue to ask what's wrong when Draco drops down on top of Harry with an undignified groan, hiding his face in the crook of Harry’s shoulder. It doesn't take long before Harry understands why though; Draco isn't hard any longer. The knowledge that something about Harry turned Draco on enough for him come without being touched makes him sweet with something so intense he doesn't know what to do with himself.

There aren't words that feel adequate enough to describe what he feels, so instead he tightens his hold on Draco, throwing his leg over him and kissing the top of his head. Despite the fact that Harry thinks he might be practically squeezing the other man to death Draco doesn't protest.

It is a very long time before they move.  


	5. 5 December

When Harry hears the knock on his office door he doesn’t even look up, already knowing who is on the other side. **  
**

“Hi Ron, you can come in.”

“How did you know it was me?” Ron laughs, pushing the door open, before shutting it behind him.

“I’m all powerful remember.” Ron snorts in disbelief. “Or Hermione might have also owled me five minutes ago saying you were stopping by with something from the joke shop you needed me to look at,” Harry admits. “Something wrong? You never come by the office.”

Ron rubs his face, then shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks on his feet. It reminds Harry of the way Ron had looked a few months after the war, right before he had asked Hermione to move in with him. Harry can remember the dull ache at the thought that he might be left out from whatever adventure they would go on next, might be left behind; left alone.  

“No fucking way!” Harry shouts suddenly, pushing his sad thoughts away as he stands abruptly, knocking his chair over in the process.

“Hey, I didn’t even say what I was here for!”

“Come off it, Ron. I’m your best friend!  Like you need to tell me.”

Some of the nervousness seems to dissipate as Ron moves to clap Harry on the back, hugging him tightly. “I’m doing it tomorrow, mate. I wanted to show you first, but don’t tell Hermione.  She’ll kill me if she finds out you knew before her.”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to remind Ron that Hermione knows perfectly well he and Ron have never had secrets, but he stops himself. “Alright so empty your pockets, Weasley. Let's see it then.”

Ron looks almost nervous when he pulls out the box, setting it down on Harry’s desk with a shrug. “It’s not much, I mean it’s not fancy or anything but…”

“It’s perfect,” Harry assures him, shooting his friend an easy smile. And it really is; it’s a small gold band with a single diamond in the middle, practical but beautiful. “Really, Ron.  She’s gonna love it.”

“Do you think she’ll... I mean-”

“Of course she’s going to say yes. You can’t actually think she wouldn’t?”

“No, I mean... well I know she will say yes. We’ve talked about it before. But it's all been very theoretical. You know Hermione- she had an entire thing planned out just in case. But still, I mean, it’s a big deal. Anyway, that’s not the only reason I stopped by.”

“Burning desire to see my face today, huh?” Harry joked.

Ron shakes his head, but he smiles anyway. “Merlin knows why. If your head was any bigger it wouldn’t fit through that door.”

“Funny, Draco said the same thing in bed last week.”

“Nope, stop. No mentions of him and bed together please. I don’t want the mental images.”  

It had been strained in the beginning when he’d first started seeing Draco. And though the other man had already been on his way to making amends for his past well before he got involved with Harry, it had still been difficult for Ron to accept. Not because he was a man, but just because it was Draco. Harry feels a deep warmth spreading through him now at the easy way Ron can tease him, can talk or laugh about his relationship, and the gratitude he feels threatens to overwhelm him.

They dissolve into easy conversation after, and Harry’s good mood carries him through the rest of the day. When he gets home a bit late that night he finds Draco in the kitchen, wearing a pair of Harry’s favorite pajama bottoms and his own sweater; a cup of tea in his hand as he stirs something on the stove that smells suspiciously like Harry’s favorite stew.

Draco turns when he hears Harry approaching, shooting him a soft smile. “You’re late.  Everything at work all right?”

“Just busy. You know how it is. I think all the crazy people come out at the Holidays.” He moves to wrap his arms around Draco, resting their foreheads together. “I love you.”

“Sentimental sap,” Draco murmurs, threading his fingers into Harry’s hair and dropping a kiss to the side of his face. “Dinner will be ready any minute. You hungry?”

“Starving,” Harry answers, not even taking the time to drag Draco down the hallway and instead side long apparating them both straight into the bedroom.

“Fucking impatient,” Draco laughs, “Someone ought to teach you a bit of restraint.”

“Oh yeah, you offering?”

Draco nods, jerking his head towards the advent in the corner, though he doesn’t wait for Harry to go and open it. Instead, he flicks his wand at it, wordlessly summoning whatever is inside, which turns out to be a very long string of fairy lights. Harry almost asks how Draco managed to get them all instead of the one tiny door when he thinks better of it, not wanting to hear an explanation on magical theories in relation to expanding spaces when is Draco leering at him like that. There are definitely better things Draco could be doing with his mouth besides talking.

“I think it's about time someone taught you a little bit about control.”

Harry scoffs, arching his hips trying to get some friction on his cock. “You couldn’t control me if you tried.”

“Not that kind of control, Harry,” Draco murmurs, winding the string of lights around Harry’s right wrist and securing it to the bedpost before he moves on to the other one. “I’m talking about you giving up control.  _You_ hold the power here. I don’t want to dominate you. I want you to give yourself to me. Don’t you want to give yourself to me? Let me have you... let me take care of you, Harry.”

Harry’s cock gets even harder and he lets out a shuddering breath. “Yes.”

At his agreement Draco summons a second set of lights from the house, moving down the bed to use them to secure Harry’s legs to the bed. The lights feel odd against his skin, a little tight and a few lights poke into the flesh of his ankles and wrists, but he finds he doesn’t particularly mind the sensations.

“Good boy. You’re always so good for me, aren’t you?” The words are whispered quietly, but they ring out in Harry’s ears as loud as if they were yelled. It feels like fire inside of him igniting, desperate to burn.

When Draco is finally done with the lights he uses an impressive banishing spell on their clothes before dimming the lights lower and lower, until the room is so dark Harry can’t even see Draco. But then Draco is whispering another spell Harry isn’t familiar with, and the string of fairy lights begin to glow. He blinks at the sudden light, his arousal flaring at the sight of Draco aglow from the soft lights.

If Harry expects it to be hard and fast like the days before he is very wrong, though not at all disappointed. Draco spends what feels like an eternity worshiping every inch of skin he sees, sucking and rubbing and touching, so that by the time Draco is finally sinking into Harry deep and slow Harry nearly screams. His arms and legs ache from the position he is stuck in, and he has no idea how long they’ve been in bed because every single one of his senses seem unable to focus on anything but the man above him, thrusting in and out; it feels like a reckoning.

He doesn’t even know at what point he loses awareness, just knows he’s coming with Draco’s name on his lips, and then, without even being cognizant of the lights being removed, he feels Draco tenderly massaging his wrists and ankles, placing gentle kisses to them before moving Harry to the side of the bed and wrapping himself around him from behind, pulling the sheets over them.

“I love you,” Draco whispers into his back, a single kiss pressed to his shoulder.


	6. 6 December

**  
**Harry spends the majority of Saturday puttering around the flat aimlessly. Draco had kissed him goodbye after breakfast, heading off on some sort of urgent and apparently top secret errand, and had left Harry to his own devices. **  
**

Which meant Harry’d already read the entire paper front to back, reorganized the kitchen pantry, polished his broom twice, and was now spread out on the couch eating an entire pack of chocolate digestives instead of a proper supper while listening to the Puddlemere versus Appleby Arrows game on the wireless.

“Please tell me that is not all you’ve eaten today,” Draco says with a raised eyebrow, making Harry nearly fall off the couch in surprise, having been so focused on the game he hadn’t heard Draco get home.

“I might’ve had a crumpet or two with my tea earlier,” Harry tells him. “And possibly a pack of chocolate frogs.”

Draco huffs, walking over to snatch the remainder of the package out of his hand. “Hobnobs for dinner, honestly. I think you would starve to death if I wasn’t here. You eat like a teenager.”

Harry shrugs, standing from the couch and lifting his arms in a stretch. “So where were you off to all day?”

“Errands.”

“Because that’s not vague.”

“It’s Christmas, I’m allowed to have secrets. Especially when there are presents involved.”

“Well, you’re not exactly Father Christmas.”

“If I remember correctly you were quite pleased with me when I was Father Christmas last year,” Draco gloats, his hand reaching out to rest on Harry’s chest. Harry wonders if Draco can feel his heart nearly beating out of his chest. “Maybe you like when I’m-”

Whatever he is going to say is silenced as Harry kisses him, pulling away only when he feels a package being shoved into his hands. “What’s this?” he asks, licking his lips.

“Clothes.”

“I’m already wearing clothes.”

“Just put it on, before you open the door.”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Harry asks, looking down at his faded Gryffindor shirt and favorite pair of grey joggers. He can’t fathom why he would need different clothes on if they’re clearly just going to come back off again.

“Just shower and put them on, please. Then when you’ve found what’s in the door come back out. I’ll be waiting.”

Harry has a million questions, but for once he thinks he likes the thrill of not knowing, and he is so unused to Draco using the world please that he agrees to the request without more protesting, quickly showering. He tries and fails miserably to tame his hair into any semblance of a style. Eventually he gives up, opening the mystery package from Draco and pursing his lips at the clothing inside. It’s not that he dislikes them, it's just nothing like he would normally wear. They look a lot more like something Draco would wear; a pair of snug looking leather trousers and an impossibly soft dark green shirt. Harry has no idea what the shirt is made out of but can tell it probably cost a ridiculous amount of money.  

A thrill of pleasure shoots through him when he looks in the mirror. He might not think quite as much of his looks as Draco seems to, but he knows he’s alright looking, possibly more than alright in the outfit.  

A million wild ideas shoot through his mind as he opens the door with the glittering number six, but nothing can prepare him for the surprise of finding a simple Christmas cracker. He returns to the living room with the object in hand, a question on his lips, but Draco is on him before he can get it out.

“Knew you’d looking fucking amazing in this,” he mumbles against Harry’s lips, making Harry wish his pants left a little more to the imagination.

The pleasure pools in his chest at Draco’s words. “So… this is for…” he asks, twirling the shiny cracker in his hand.

“Open it.”

Harry stares at it for a few long moments, before pulling on the ends. When it pops open there is nothing inside except a red paper crown. He knows he hasn’t managed to keep the confusion off his face because Draco begins to laugh.

“Let me, Harry.”  And then Draco is unfolding the crown, holding onto one of Harry’s arms as he sets the crown atop his head. Immediately Harry feels the familiar tug of a portkey activating and he stumbles when they land, glad Draco is beside him, warm and steady with a strong arm still holding his own.

Harry blinks a few times, always a lot more disoriented by portkeys than Draco ever seems to be. When he finally feels a bit more acclimated he looks around curiously and realizes they’re somewhere in Soho, and though Harry doesn’t recognize the club across the street he can hear the pulsing music and see the hoards of men lined up waiting to get inside and knows without a doubt that’s where they must be going.

“We’re going dancing?” he asks, feeling stupid because of course that’s what they’re doing here.

“Yes and don’t get any ideas about being shy. You are not shy.”

Harry huffs out a breath as Draco drags him across the street. “I know I’m not shy. I just can’t dance. You know that.” They’ve never been out dancing before, not in the almost two years they’ve been together. Harry realizes he doesn't even know if Draco can dance, though he definitely wants to see Draco move his body to the pulsing music, his initial burst of excitement waning at the awareness that it also means other people will be watching  _him_.

When they get to the front of the club it becomes clear there is a ridiculously long line of people, mostly men, waiting to get in, and Harry is tempted to poke Draco in the back and tell him they can just go home rather than spend half the night waiting to go inside when the bouncer shoots them a look Harry can’t identify before lifting the barrier and ushering them inside with a wave of his hand.

“Why’d he let us past the line?” Harry all but yells because the second they’re inside the music is so loud Harry isn’t sure can even hear himself think.

“Because you look fuckable,” Draco yells louder, and Harry moves a touch closer to Draco when a group of men turn to stare at his words.

Draco grins almost wickedly looking a lot more excited than Harry feels, throwing his arm around Harry’s shoulder and leading him towards the dance floor. Not that it looks like there is any room for them, but it doesn't seem like anyone else cares whether people are watching or touching. No one in the entire place seems to have a single notion of personal space, and while Harry really likes being touched, he's not sure that extends to being bumped and patted by strangers.

“You need to relax,” Draco tells him, his lips on Harry’s ear so he can hear him. He leads Harry to the bar, and Harry ignores him while he orders, turning his attention to the throngs of people, some of whom look a bit like they're reenacting sex with their clothes on.  

“See anything you like?” Draco asks, handing him a drink. It's strong and kind of fruity and Harry is pretty sure he isn't supposed to down it all in one gulp.

“Hey,” Draco says, a hand on his forearm and his voice oddly gentle despite the decibel at which he has to speak. “We can go home if you don't want this. You know that right?”

And Harry knows it's true. If Harry asked they could leave right now and he knows Draco wouldn't be angry or even bring it up again. It would be filed away under things they understand about each other but don't speak of. Something about that bolsters his confidence, and Harry shoots him a smile that leaves Draco looking a little flushed.

It only takes three more drinks before Harry lets Draco drag him onto the dance floor. At first it's awkward trying to figure out where his hands go and how his feet should move and whether his body is moving too fast or too slow. All those thoughts melt away the second Draco moves behind him, pressing himself flush against Harry’s back and letting his hands roam over his chest. Harry drops his head back on Draco’s shoulder, letting the movement of the other man’s hips set the pace and lead his movements, rocking side to side and grinding his arse back against Draco’s now erect cock.  

Feeling Draco’s hardness against his arse as he pants hot and heavy in Harry’s ear, the music loud enough his body nearly pulses with it, makes Harry slowly lose his inhibitions.  

“Fuck, I knew you'd be like this once you let go. You have no idea, do you? No idea what you look like?” Draco sounds frenzied, his movements becoming jerky. “They're all watching us, you know. Watching you. Fuck, Harry. They know you're hard from just me touching you.”

Harry just hums, Draco's words feeling sort of distant through the haze of alcohol. He's drunk, not enough to forget tomorrow but enough to forget in this moment that he ever has to be anyone or anything except Draco’s.

“You want them to see, don't you? Let them see you come undone just from dancing with me, Harry,” he groans, and Harry thinks this can hardly be called dancing. But he acquiesces, letting that last bit of apprehension float away before turning himself around and wrapping his arms around Draco’s neck, and he doesn't know what he looks like, but more importantly, he realizes he doesn't even care.

All he cares about is Draco’s leg between his thighs as they rock their hips to the music. He can't even be embarrassed when he comes before the next song starts, letting himself fall against Draco’s body and swaying side to side far slower than the pace of the music demands.

Draco doesn't say anything either, just rests his hands on Harry’s hips as they dance to a song no one else can hear, as if they exist in place entirely their own.


	7. 7 Decemeber

If Harry had thought dancing all night at a muggle gay club in Soho had been a surprise, it was nothing compared to the bewilderment he feels upon walking into the kitchen the next morning and seeing Draco standing there wearing a red and green striped apron, surrounded by bags of flour and sugar, packages of butter, and bowls of brightly colored sweets.

It’s not that Harry isn’t used to the sight of Draco in the kitchen because Draco does most of the cooking and Harry knows it's something he enjoys, but there is something bewildering about seeing Draco looking like some sort of Christmas elf. He looks so excited, and there is a softness in his expression. Harry can’t help but wonder if his parents ever did things like this, like a family. He thinks they must have. He wonders if they did it with him, or perhaps if they _would_ have had they lived long enough.

“Where did you get all this?” There are so many things he wants to say but that’s what comes out.

“At Tescos, of course.” Draco says, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.  

Harry just gapes. “Since when do you know where the supermarket is?”

“I’ve always known where it was,” Malfoy replied indignantly. “Just because I deemed _not_ to do the shopping and send you instead doesn't mean I’m incapable of doing it myself. I just happen to know how to delegate mundane tasks to someone more worthy of them.”

“Are you calling me an errand boy?”

“Well I’m certainly not going to Tescos once a week. Do you know how many old ladies stopped to tell me what a nice young chap I was and how _‘Young men nowadays don’t bake that’s a lovely skill to have, dear_ ’” he intones, taking on a rather hilarious pitch to his voice.

“Oh my god, did you push a trolley through Tesco’s? When did you go? Why didn't you take me with you?!”

“Merlin, I've created a monster. You're focusing on the wrong things!” Draco says impatiently.

“Alright,” Harry concedes. “Then what exactly is the important bit of this equation?”

Draco gives him a rather knowing look, waving a hand at the kitchen table in what Harry can only assume is supposed to be a casual manner. It’s the advent house. _Oh_. Harry feels a bit stupid for not having noticed that it was missing from the bedroom when he woke up, or that it had apparently been sitting right in front of him during the entire exchange. He figures still being half hungover, despite the potion he drank for it, works as a pretty solid excuse. That, and the fact that Draco looks equal parts adorable and fuckable, which honestly makes it a bit hard for Harry to think about anything other than him. Especially so early in the morning.

“So I get to open it already?”

“Obviously.”

Harry sticks his tongue out at Draco petulantly, choosing to ignore the finger Draco flips him as he moves to open the door.  

“It’s...cutters,” he says uncertainty.

“What were you expecting?”

Harry cocks his head, not entirely sure how to answer that question. He’s not sure he'd expected any one thing in particular, but he'd assumed it would have been something that led to things besides baking. Though Draco’s choice of attire probably should have tipped him off.  

“What are we making?” Harry asks, having discovered several more cutters inside the small space. There are a few different shapes, although none of them look quite like what he’d expect for Christmas baking, not that he has any experience with making them himself.

“A gingerbread house.”

“A _gingerbread house_ ,” Harry repeats, feeling confused. He’d seen them before of course but it wasn’t exactly common to make them, at least not with muggles. He wonders if it's a wizarding thing he never heard about, or just a Malfoy thing.

“I used to make them... well, when I was a child. With my parents. Well, my mother made them with me, my father just watched us.”

“That’s-” Harry pauses, not sure how to articulate exactly what that is. Even after they’d moved in together Draco hadn’t even really talked about his childhood much, as if he feet guilty remembering the good times when things ended up so wrong. Harry wants to tell him that it's okay to have memories that aren’t tainted, and that no matter how much he might hate his father he won’t begrudge Draco for loving who he was and not who he became. He wants to tell Draco about watching Petunia make up baskets of biscuits and sweets for the neighbors every year, more to show off than to be kind, piling them with things that smelled like heaven but that Harry was never allowed to touch or taste. But Harry doesn’t know how to say those things, so he swallows down the lump in his throat and crosses the room, enveloping Draco in a hug and whispering thank you into his shoulder.

It must be the right thing to say though because Harry can feel Draco smiling into the top of his head.

Five hours later Harry is covered in flour and quite sure the initial novelty has begun to wear off.  It’s not that he hasn’t enjoyed learning how to make a gingerbread house, or spending time with Draco; he just hadn’t realized how fucking _long_ it would take. 

Draco, as expected, had wanted it to be absolutely perfect and made Harry re-roll the dough at least five times. The first batch of gingerbread had apparently baked four minutes too long, the second batch had, according to Draco, puffed up too much and thus would make the walls of the house look ridiculous until finally, the third batch had been just right. Draco had always been a bit neurotic and controlling in the kitchen, but baking apparently took it to an entirely new level. Harry was positive Draco had gotten far too much pleasure from being able to tell Harry exactly what to do. It was almost like being back in Potions, except it smelled a lot better and this time and he didn’t have the uncontrollable urge to punch Draco in the face.

After letting the gingerbread cool Draco had helped Harry assemble two houses, one for each of them, before covering the table in bowls of sweets and mounds of icing. Which Harry truthfully thought had been a lot more fun than the actual making the house part. At least until he’d looked up, halfway through covering his own house in tiny red and green gumdrops and feeling rather proud of his creation, to realize that Draco’s gingerbread house looked like a fucking masterpiece. He’d somehow managed to frost his house with delicate looking filigrees on the roof and perfectly shaped windows that even had shutters. It takes him all of two seconds to realize Draco has even managed to create a miniature snowman with a small zig zag of black frosting on its forehead and tiny glasses.

“Wanker! Are you using magic?” Harry chokes out.

“Of course I’m not. Some of us are just naturally gifted with our hands,” Draco teases, his shoulders pulling back a bit in pride before he winks at Harry. All that does is make Harry accidentally drop a large glob of frosting in the wrong spot. Harry suddenly thinks his own house looks a bit like it was made by a five-year-old. Which should annoy him, but all it does is make something warm pool in his chest as he watches Draco’s tongue dart out in concentration.

Another forty minutes later and Harry no longer thinks; he _knows_ with utter certainty that his own house looks like it was made by a child. Draco’s, on the other hand, looks like it should be displayed in one of the shop windows in Diagon Alley. Though, he notes with more than a fair bit of pleasure, that Draco puts _both_ of their houses on the mantle.

“That was fun,” Harry tells him honestly. “Although... maybe next year I’ll join you after the gingerbread parts have already been baked.”

“That wouldn’t be any fun. Then who would I get to boss around?”

“I knew that was your favorite part, you prat,” Harry laughs, playfully knocking into Draco’s shoulder as he moves to take his own apron off, throwing it over the back of his chair. “I’m knackered. Think I’ll have a kip.”

“I think you better clean up first. This place is an absolute disaster and I’ve worked awfully hard today,” Draco says smoothly.

Harry spins around quickly, prepared to argue that he certainly wasn't the only one making the mess and that Draco should definitely help. Except when he turns around Draco is standing in the middle of the kitchen completely _naked_ and smirking.

“I've gotten myself very messy,” Draco murmurs, voice dripping with innuendo as he takes his hand and gathers up a rather large scoop of frosting and begins to slather it on his chest.

“Need a hand?” Harry groans, his cock already twitching in anticipation.  

Draco leans back against the counter, scooping up some of the green frosting this time and smearing it across his hips before wrapping his hand around his cock and giving it a few meaningful strokes, his eyes never leaving Harry’s face.  

“Mmm, no I don't need a hand. I think what I need is a _mouth_.”

That's all the telling Harry needs, not caring in the least that he's going to get covered in frosting as he presses against Draco.

“What do you think, Harry, can you give me what I need?” Draco challenges, dragging a line of frosting across Harry’s cheek with his thumb before sliding it into Harry’s willing mouth. Harry sucks on it greedily, swirling his tongue around the flexing digit until every drop of frosting is gone before moving his way down to lap at Draco's stomach, feeling a rush at the almost salty, musky taste of Draco’s skin mixed with the sweetness of the frosting.

Draco moans above him, frosting covered fingers pulling at Harry’s hair as Harry licks and sucks until Draco's skin is a sticky mess. He leaves Draco’s cock for last, unable to stop his own moan as he swallows the entire length down with no warning, basking in the way Draco’s precome tastes sliding down the back of his throats as the rich, thick frosting coats his tongue.

Harry can't take his eyes off Draco, watching intently at the bliss that plays across his face as Harry bobs his head up and down enthusiastically, his eyes finally fluttering shut when Draco begins to stroke the back of his neck, a sure sign his orgasm is close.

Harry feels a little delirious from it all, and possibly a bit nauseous from all the frosting, but all of that seems to melt away as Draco comes with a strangled cry, continuing to stroke Harry’s neck long after he's done.

“I think we both need a shower.” Harry’s voice sounds hoarse and his knees pop audibly as he stands. He's definitely more than a bit nauseous from all the sugar, his knees hurt, his hair is gunked with frosting, and his cock is achingly hard, but all he can think of is how good it all feels.  

“What you need,” Draco answers with a laugh, dragging Harry down the hallway, “is my mouth on your cock and my fingers in your arse.”

Harry hums in agreement, “Then sleep.”

“Fucking lazy sod,” Draco grumbles affectionately, pausing to shove Harry up against the wall.  “Trust me- with what I have planned we aren't gonna sleep for quite a while..”

It's a long time before they make it to the shower, and even longer before they sleep.  


	8. 8 December -

Monday morning dawns bright and far too soon for Harry, who would much rather spend the entire day in bed. Harry hates Mondays, especially ones that come after weekends full of Christmas cheer, dancing, and mind-blowing sex.

It's only a few seconds before Harry is unable to ignore the light streaming through the window directly onto his face. Grudgingly, he cracks his eyes open, knowing if he doesn’t he will be late for work. He rolls over, throwing his arm out and feeling momentarily confused when he’s met, not with Draco’s warm body, but with ice cold sheets.  

Blearily he throws his arm out, reaching for his glasses on the side table and shoving them on, squinting at the empty half of the bed. On closer inspection, he notices a small note left on the pillow with Draco’s tidy scrawl

 

_Harry,_

_I received an urgent owl from work and had to leave. You were pretty passed out, drooling on your pillow even, and I didn't have the heart to wake you._

_I want you to open today's door without me. But don't open what's inside until you get to work. And make sure you leave it on your desk. This will make more sense once you do it._

_Yours,_

_Draco_

 

Harry drops the note to the bed carelessly, scrambling off the bed and searching out the correct door. He locates it in no time, curiosity intensifying as he pulls out a plain white envelope. He turns it over in his hands a few times, shaking it once and even tapping it with his wand and casting a revealing spell. But everything seems to point to it being nothing than more a simple card.  

With an eagerness not usually displayed so early on a Monday morning Harry showers and dresses, arriving at work a full nine minutes early, giving him plenty of time to examine his gift.  

He shoots a strong locking charm at the door just in case before sitting down to open the card.  He half expects something fantastical to happen when he does, but all that happens is that Harry finds his chest feel warm and fuzzy and he reads the card.

 

 

> _To the One I Love, At Christmas time_
> 
> _Neither one of us is perfect_
> 
> _But we are perfect for each other_
> 
> _I hope you know_
> 
> _I want for nothing, when I have you_
> 
> _Always yours,_
> 
> _Draco_
> 
>  

Harry feels his face flush with pleasure as he shuts the card, setting it down on his desk beside his favorite Puddlemere United cup. He’d been surprised the first time Draco had written him something incredibly sentimental like this in a letter a few months after they’d first started dating, because they were things Draco would never speak.  

Harry had never minded that Draco wasn’t particularly vocal about his feelings because his actions always showed how he felt far more than words ever could. But he can’t deny how much the occasional letters mean to him the few times Draco chooses to send them.

It doesn’t even occur to Harry there might be more to the card than meets the eye until he knocks it over an hour later, noticing out of the corner of his eye that the writing inside the card seems to be changing. As he picks it up the previous words inside the glittering card are replaced with entirely new ones.

 

 

> _Harry,_
> 
> _Do you remember the first time we fucked? It took every ounce of self-control I possessed not to come the second I pushed inside of you. You were so eager, you wanted me as much as I wanted you. And fuck if that wasn’t enough to set me off. But the sounds you made were the hottest fucking thing I’d ever heard. I’d had sex before but never like that. I think I wanked myself raw that entire week afterward thinking about you. The way you arched and moaned, the way your face looked when you came, the way it looked to see my cock sliding inside of your body. I knew then I was ruined for anyone else ever again._
> 
> _Draco_
> 
>  

Harry swallows, his office feeling suddenly much too small and far too hot, almost as if all the air has left the room. Experimentally, he shuts the card, opening it again slowly and biting his bottom lip as the words change before his very eyes once again.

 

 

> _Harry,_
> 
> _Remember the first time I let you top? I know you knew, even if you didn't say as much, but I’d never let anyone else do that before. I didn’t want them too. But I wanted you too. I don’t know if I would’ve ever gotten the courage to ask you to do it.  But that night, after we’d had too much to drink you pushed me back on the bed, looking so unsure asking if you could fuck me. As if I might say no. As if you didn't know there was no way I would ever be able to say no to you ever again. I trusted you to make it good. You were so nervous. I never told you, but so was I. I thought I might die when you pressed your cock inside of me. It wasn’t just the pain, but the idea that someone else was inside of me, taking me; taking everything I had to offer. I don’t know how you take it like that over and over day after day, because it feels like being owned. Sometimes, when you’re away on a mission I fuck myself with my fingers and wish it was you._
> 
> _Draco_
> 
>  

“Fuck,” Harry groans, dropping the card on his desk and rubbing his face with his hands. He looks at the stack of paperwork he’s supposed to filling out, reaching for the card and thinking better of it, pulling his hand away hurriedly.

Harry picks up his quill, forcing himself to concentrate on his work and successfully makes it halfway through of a rather tedious report he’s supposed to sign off on from a fellow Auror before he can’t take it any longer and grabs the card, needing to read more.

 

> _Harry,_
> 
> _I know I like to tease you about being impatient, but don’t let that fool you. The fact that you can’t stop touching me, that you get hard the second I touch you, is the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. The only reason I want you to have more self control is so I don’t have to, because I want to touch you every moment of every day._
> 
> _Draco_
> 
>  

“Fuck,” Harry mumbles again, unable to think of anything else even remotely coherent. This time he doesn't even delude himself into thinking he can work, shutting the card before flipping it open hastily.

 

 

> _Harry,_
> 
> _I forgot to mention one little thing.  Every time you open this card I’ll know (and don’t bother asking me how, but trust me; it’s ridiculously complicated magic and you should be very impressed with my prowess)._
> 
> _Are you hard when you read my letters? When you think of the things we’ve done? I know I am. I don’t need to tell you what I look like because I know you know. Bet you’re thinking about the way I look right now, the way my cock looks filling out, the way the flush will start to spread across my face. I’m so hard for you now, Harry, thinking about you trying not to touch yourself. I’ve got my fingers wrapped around my cock at this very moment. Because of you._
> 
> _You’re horribly predictable you know and I love it. I bet you’re so hard already aren’t you, probably from the first letter. You love when I talk dirty, don’t you? Such a slut for my cock and my mouth, for all of me. I bet you’re gripping the card so tight you’re going close to ripping it in half. You better not though, because then you won’t get to read the rest of my letters and trust me they’re going to be good._
> 
> _Draco_
> 
> _P.S. Don’t you dare wank. At all. I want you hard for me, desperate for me. I know you’re dying to slide your hand underneath the desk and palm yourself through your robes, hoping no one will walk in and catch you, but I want you to be a good boy for me, Harry. I promise to make it worth your while._
> 
>  

With a groan Harry drops his head onto the desk, his mounds of paperwork fluttering to the floor in disarray.  He spends the rest of his day like that alternately turned on, frustrated and more than a touch exasperated because he cannot stop himself from opening his Christmas card to see what else appears inside every five minutes.  

He drinks so much tea he feels like he might drown in it, trying desperately to distract himself, and gets exactly zero of his reports signed off or finished.

“You fucking tease,” Harry all but yells, no malice in his voice when he apparates home at exactly half past five to find Draco curled up on the couch reading a book. “Do you have any idea what it was like to sit across from Robards in my afternoon meeting listening to him drone on about productivity and funding for a full fucking hour? Or how hard it was to focus on reviewing whether the junior Aurors from my Department followed the right protocol during their missions when I just kept replaying your words.”

Draco takes an excruciatingly long time to look up from his book, placing his bookmark between the pages before letting it fall shut. Harry feels his chest begin to heave, Draco’s long legs uncurling from beneath him as he rises from the couch, striding across the room and backing Harry up against the wall.

“It only counts as teasing if I don’t plan to follow through. And trust me, I plan to follow through.  Very, very thoroughly.” Draco’s words shoot straight to Harry’s cock, and he lets out an embarrassing whine, bucking his hips and reaching out, nearly desperate to be touched. “Were you a good boy, Harry?”  Draco whispers, his fingertips ghosting down Harry’s body, hovering in front of his cock, but not actually touching it.

Harry nods, unable to speak, grateful Draco doesn’t ask again, instead moving his hand to cup Harry through his trousers. Harry drops his head back against the wall with a resounding thud, his eyes fluttering closed in pleasure. “That’s right, Harry. Let it out. You’ve been so good for me, always so good. Let me give you your rewards,” Draco whispers, moving his hand towards Harry’s, entwining their fingers and pulling him to the bedroom.

Harry follows eagerly, a grin spreading across his face. Yes, he thinks, surrendering to Draco’s touches; this was definitely worth the wait.


	9. 9 December -

“How was work?” Harry asks, attempting to act casual, and trying very hard not to bring up the advent calendar sitting in their bedroom that Draco still hasn’t mentioned today. Not once. Not over breakfast, not in the short owl he sent Harry during lunch, not over their dinner of Harry’s favorite take away — a spicy curry with fresh naan that had left him so full he wasn’t sure he would have room to eat anything all week — nor did he bring it up at all during the last hour they’d spent comfortably sitting on the couch; Draco reading a rather boring sounding Potions dissertation, while Harry listened to the Quidditch match playing quietly from the corner of the living room.

“It was fine. Just like when you asked me how it was over dinner,” Draco answers not looking up from his papers, but the corner of his mouth turns up as if he is suppressing a smile. “How was your day, Harry?” he asks, meticulously collecting up the papers spread out across his lap before setting them down on the coffee table.

Draco looks particularly good tonight; his grey trousers and white jumper aglow from the light of the fire, his hair falling softly into his eyes, his body relaxed and completely at ease in their cozy living room. It all just makes Harry feels dangerously close to pressing Draco down into the couch and having his way with him, not caring in the least what might be in the advent calendar today. The only thing stopping him is the knowledge that it means something to Draco, that whatever it is will be something Draco picked out for him, for them. He thinks of Draco’s words — about his impatience and self-control — and does his best to have at least a little bit.

“It was long. And boring. And I swear to Merlin if Peterson drops by my office one more time this week to borrow something stupid like a Quill or extra parchment I’m going to lose my mind.” Harry groans, leaning his head back over the edge of the couch and stretching his legs out into Draco’s now free lap.

“That’s because he has a crush on you, you dolt.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely not. He knows I’m with you! Everyone knows that. We live together!”

“Yes, he does. Which incidentally is why I plan on sending him a Howler tomorrow,” Draco told him.

“A Howler?”

“Well, I thought you might not approve of me sending him a curse. A Howler seemed nicer.  Wednesdays are so busy for me though. Can you remind me if I forget?”

“Draco, I’m not reminding you to send a Howler to one of my colleagues over a non-existent crush. Besides even if he did have feelings for me, which mind you I don't think he does, it wouldn’t matter. You know that.”

“Harry, we’ve talked about this and what conclusion did we come to?”

Harry snorts. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Harry,” he says, rubbing circles on the insides of Harry’s ankles. It sends a shiver up his spine. “You said — and mind you I never once agreed with you — that ‘Draco knows best, always listen to Draco’.”  Harry can’t help himself from trying to inflict some of Draco’s posh accent into his words earning him a quick pinch to the thigh.

“I swear I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Yes, you do. You like my hair, even though you still pretend you don’t, and that I know how to make your tea. You like to steal my jumpers because you like the way I smell when I get out of the shower. You like—”

Draco leans forward suddenly, placing a finger over Harry’s mouth to silence him. “That’s quite enough. You are clearly incredibly tired and ready for bed. Come along.”

“Bed? But what about the advent.”

“Oh that... yes, must have slipped my mind,” Draco mutters, waving his hands about as he walks down the hallway. Harry follows him without question, wondering what exactly could be inside that would have Draco seeming almost apprehensive. He can’t think of a single thing Draco would suggest that Harry wouldn’t want, not with him, and considering all the things they’ve already done in just a week he can’t imagine anything more scandalous either.

When they get to their bedroom Draco sits on the end of the bed, not saying anything else, so Harry finds the door with the number eight and opens it, expecting to find something incredibly kinky and surprised when all he pulls out is a sparkling red bow the size of his hand.

When he turns back around Draco is already removing his clothing, locking eyes with Harry as he pushes his pants to the floor and reaches out to grab the bow, planting it on his chest and smiling in a way that Harry suspects is at least eight percent false bravado. Though it bewilders Harry to think that Draco could imagine a scenario where Harry didn't want exactly what Draco wanted.

“So,” Harry begins, quickly divesting himself of his own clothing, “Does this mean I get to do whatever I want with you?”

“Yes,” Draco answers, his chin held high, his body holding a touch of tension, and his cock rapidly hardening.

Harry doesn’t need to be told twice, nearly knocking Draco off the bed as he jumps across it.

Draco laughs, shaking his head at Harry, and Harry’s heart begins to beat loud enough he almost can’t hear himself think. It’s not so different from any other time; he knows he can have Draco anytime, knows Draco always wants him. But something about this overt display of abandon and consent has Harry feeling nearly reckless with the intensity of his desire for him.

“What do you want?” Harry asks him, his hand on Draco’s chest as his eyes roam over his naked body.

“I—, what?”

“I said,” Harry whispers, leaning down to suck on the juncture of Draco’s neck and shoulder, removing his mouth only long enough to speak, “What. Do. You. Want? Because I know what I want, and that's to give _you_ exactly what you want.”

Draco’s laugh turns into a moan as Harry begins to languidly stroke Draco’s cock.  “Only you would find a way to turn a gift for you into something for someone else.”

Harry just winks, speeding up his strokes. “So?”

“I want... I want...” but he trails off. And in that moment Harry knows exactly what Draco wants, even if Draco can’t say it. Because it seems to be the only time Draco can’t find the words for what he wants, what he needs. But Harry knows.

“Can I fuck you?” Harry gasps out, not meaning for it to sound as breathless and desperate as it does.

“Fuck. Yes. Fuck me now, Harry. Fuck me like you know you want to. Don’t hold back, I can take it,” Draco groans, his nails digging into Harry’s forearm. And then Draco’s words are back, and just like that, Harry feels the little bit of restraint he was holding onto slipping as he grabs a hold of Draco’s hips and flips him over in one swift movement.

Then he drops his mouth to Draco’s back, kissing his way up towards his neck, his fingers ghosting down to tease at Draco’s entrance. Harry grabs his wand from the bedside, whispering a quiet lubrication spell before sliding his finger inside, his cock hardening at the guttural sound of pleasure Draco emits. They don’t do it like this very often, hardly ever in fact, which is fine with Harry because no matter how much he enjoys this there is nothing he enjoys more than Draco’s cock slamming into him. Which works out perfectly for them both since Draco seems to like the exact same thing.

But every once in awhile, and Harry is never sure why, the mood to switch strikes them and something forceful and wild comes over him, and it's all he can do to control himself, but control he does, making sure he takes extra care to stretch and prepare Draco, because he knows he isn’t used this, isn't used to the stretch and burn the way Harry is.

“Fucking get on with it, you slow fucking wanker,” Draco groans, and Harry knows if Draco can still be that bossy he isn’t giving him the fuck he needs.

“You’re too fucking bossy for your own good,” Harry pants out, all the air leaving his lungs as he slides his cock in as far as it will go. Draco, for his part, says nothing, just slams his eyes shut, his hands fisting in the bed sheets as Harry presses into his body. It’s so tight and hot, and Draco is already rutting back against him, small whimpers escaping his lips as his cock leaks precome on the bed.

It’s too much, the sight of Draco Malfoy undone by him, by his touch, and Harry can’t stop himself from thrusting in hard and deep, his movements unyielding as if he’s trying to wrench the orgasm from Draco’s body as swiftly and forcefully as possible, his hands grabbing Draco and pulling him back onto his cock, his own balls drawing up tight and making a filthy slapping sound as bottoms out over and over until Draco is screaming his name, clawing at the bed as he comes. Harry follows just a few thrusts later, collapsing on top of Draco and ignoring his protests of being crushed to death.

When he finally gets the energy to move he doesn’t even bother trying to clean them off, just wraps himself around Draco, arms and legs surrounding him tightly, absolutely no intention of letting go. 

For once Draco doesn’t protest


	10. 10 December

Harry is walking down the hallway, a lukewarm cup of tea raised halfway to his mouth, when he hears a loud commotion coming from the Auror break room a few doors down. Naturally, that means he changes his direction and bypasses his own office, choosing instead to walk down the hallway in order to investigate.

What he finds makes him wish he chose to head back into his own office and mind his business. What he had, at a distance, initially thought sounded like some kind of panic, Harry now recognizes as his fellow Aurors laughing and teasing someone. A certain someone who has been pestering him incessantly for months. A certain someone who looks incredibly unhappy to be standing in the middle of a group of his colleagues holding a smoking red envelope.

“Hurry up, Peterson, the longer you wait the worse it's going to be!” someone shouts. There are at least twenty other Aurors crowded into the small room and Harry can't tell who said it.

“Harry!” someone else bellows, making every head turn and look in his direction. Several of the other Aurors whistle and at least one of them lets out a holler.  

“Peterson, you better open that before it-”

But it's too late, and the Howler explodes with a deafening ring. Harry’s worst fears are confirmed as the voice begins to shout.

“Peterson, kindly keep your eyes and hands to yourself. Harry is quite completely off the market and it doesn't matter how many times you pretend you can't find your Auror regulation handbook or a spare quill — nothing will change that. Harry is too nice to tell you and is so blind he doesn’t even notice you salivating every time he walks into a room.  

I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, even after the embarrassment you made of yourself at the fundraising gala last month. I tried to warn you but you didn't listen. It’s not my fault if you’re just determined to embarrass yourself.

Honestly, you should be thanking me for only sending you a Howler. But if you don't keep your pathetic hands and eyes off my boyfriend I can promise you that you'll get much worse than a simple howler next time.”

By the time the shouting has stopped Harry isn't sure who is more embarrassed; him or Peterson. Truthfully he thinks he would probably feel sorrier for the other man if he didn't happen to be the most self-righteous, useless excuse for an Auror Harry had ever met. Even still, he can't deny the intense awkwardness he feels as everyone glances back and forth between them both, no one quite knowing what to say.

Harry momentarily wonders if it could possibly get any more uncomfortable when Peterson’s partner suddenly speaks up. “Guess you better get rid of those charity centerfolds of Potter from last month you keep hidden in your desk that you still wank over.”

Half the Aurors in the room break out in a juvenile round of laughter while the other half of them turn to watch Harry as he chokes on his tea at the revelation. Whatever small bit of pity he felt for Peterson disappears promptly.

“Right. I would say this was fun but that would be a lie. I'm leaving now,” Harry mutters, purposely avoiding making eye contact with anyone as he marches towards his office.

He spends the rest of the day ignoring the interdepartmental memos his coworkers send him asking if he will autograph their calendars. Wankers, all of them.

By the time he gets home that evening most of his embarrassment has faded, leaving him with a nothing but a very minor remaining sense of indignation and possibly more than a small bit of fond amusement at Draco’s possessive gesture, not that he has any attention of letting him know that. Ever.

“Harry, you're home. Pass me the garlic would you.” Draco’s tone is cheerful.  

“So the most interesting thing happened at work today,” Harry tells him.

Draco hums to show he is listening, not looking up from the pan of whatever it is he seems to be cooking. Though Harry can't see it, he thinks it smells suspiciously like his favorite chicken dish.

“Someone sent Peterson a Howler.”

“Did they now? Well, he’s a rather obnoxious fellow so I would imagine he has annoyed a whole host of people. Who sent it?” Draco asks, managing to sound surprisingly innocent.

“Apparently Peterson has a ridiculous crush on one of his colleagues. Even keeps their charity centerfold in his desk and wanks over it. And this poor unsuspecting fellow has a rather jealous boyfriend who sent Peterson a Howler telling him off in front of almost half my Department.”

“That fucking wanker! I knew you shouldn’t have done that spread for Witch Weekly. I don’t care if it was for charity! I fucking knew it! I knew some depraved witch or wizard was going to take those photos and imagine they could have you, as if anyone else would ever be allowed to touch you.” By the time he’s done speaking Draco’s voice has taken on a surprisingly high pitched tone and Harry realizes that it's gone a step above teasing.

“Hey,” Harry whispers gently, wrapping himself around Draco from behind and pressing several kisses to the back of his neck, “I’m yours, alright? It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks or does, nothing will change that. Although next time, try not sound a Howler about it, yeah? They’re never going to let me live this one down.”

“Peterson is a tosser.”

“I’m pretty sure you thoroughly embarrassed him, Draco. I doubt he will come into my office for anything ever again.”

“Good. Wanker.”

Harry continues nuzzling at the back of Draco’s neck. “So, what’s for dinner?”

“I think I’d much rather have dessert first,” Draco answers, pulling Harry towards the bedroom with a huff. “Go ahead, open the door.”

“So it's more sweets then huh? Should’ve known. Your sweet tooth is a bit ridiculous.”

Draco just snorts. “I wasn’t the one devouring mounds of frosting like a starving man the other day.”

“It wasn’t the frosting I wanted to devour. Besides, if either of us eats sweets like a starving man it’s definitely you.”

“Well I like you and you’re rather salty so... so there.”

Harry laughs, prying the little square door open, his fingers closing around something small. He realizes immediately what it is, turning it over in his hands.

“Quality Street. Aunt Petunia never let me have any.”

“I remember,” Draco says quietly.

“There was always a tin of them in the kitchen around Christmas. Uncle Vernon used to get them from his boss. I don’t think any of them even liked them very much. I tried to... I tried to sneak one once, one of the red ones, but Dudley caught me right as I was peeling off the wrapper. It didn’t matter that Dudley hated strawberry, he just didn't want me to have it. Uncle Vernon cuffed me by the ear and didn’t let me have any dinner that night.”

“Hey, look at me. This isn’t about them alright. It’s about us,” Draco says rather tenderly, prying Harry’s fingers open before he smashes the tiny sweet. Harry hadn’t even realized he was clenching his fist. “Look at me, Harry. By the time I’m done with you, I promise you that I will be the only thing you ever think of again when you see these plebeian Muggle sweets.”

He’s not sure if it’s Draco’s words or the tone of his voice, but it breaks through his moment of anguish, a smile spreading across his face. “So what am I supposed to do with it?”

“Eat it.”

“Eat it,” Harry echoes. “That’s all?”

Draco drops to his knees, nuzzling his face into Harry’s stomach before affectionately before unbuttoning his jeans. “Well yes, but you’re going to want to savor it, to make it last.”

“Why - why is that?” Harry gasps as Draco’s cool fingers slide beneath the waistband of his pants.

“Because this is only going to last as long as the candy does. The longer you make the sweet last, the longer I’ll... touch you. The longer I’ll taste you.”

“Oh, fuck.”

Draco chuckles, sliding Harry’s pants down and freeing his half hard cock. “Mmm, I don’t think we’ll make quite it that far unless you can really make it last.”

“You’re evil. Absolutely evil.”

“Mmm, but that’s what you love about me isn’t it?” Draco whispers, dragging his tongue across Harry’s tattoo. “Be good, Harry. Put it in your mouth, and I’ll put yours in my mouth.”

Harry curses as he unwraps the large purple sweet, popping it into his mouth and nearly swallowing it whole when Draco keeps his promise and envelopes Harry’s cock with his mouth.

It doesn’t take long for Harry to realize this will be much harder than he thought because Draco’s ministrations are relentless as he hums around Harry’s cock, sucking up and down and rolling Harry’s balls in one hand before a slick finger is pressing inside of him.

His mouth falls open in a guttural moan and he just barely stops the chocolate from falling out. Harry had spent many a night falling asleep dreaming about unwrapping just one Quality Street for himself, but he thinks this moment definitely knocks every single thought he had about how they might taste out of the park.

Harry has to close his eyes, unable to watch Draco’s lips spreading out around the tip of his cock as Draco slides his tongue inside the slit, his fingers scissoring inside of Harry with such an intimate knowledge of Harry’s body and what he likes that he’s not sure how he manages to even stay upright little own manage to swallow down his own saliva without chomping the fucking piece of chocolate in half.  

And then Draco is crooking his fingers, pressing into his prostate and Harry tries to muffle his moan, really he does, but all he ends up doing is sucking on the chocolate hard enough that it smashes in his mouth, his tongue suddenly enveloped in the rich filling as he bites down on the crunchy hazelnut, and then Harry doesn’t care, can’t stand it any longer, as he finally swallows the chocolate begging and pleading. Draco gives one final hard suck, shoving three fingers inside him relentlessly and crooking them until Harry is coming hard and fast.

Harry allows himself to slide down the wall into an undignified heap, letting out a bit of a huff.  

“Fucking Quality Street,” he mumbles, eyes half-lidded.

Draco looks incredibly pleased with himself, and even though he still has his trousers on Harry can see the hard line of his cock and the small wet patch forming on the front.

“You wouldn’t by any chance have any more of those sweets would you?”

“Why? Think you can get it up again?” Draco asks, sounding cocky.

“Not exactly,” Harry answers, moving onto his knees as he reaches out to undo Draco’s trousers. “I was more interested in seeing how long you can make it last.”

“Why, Potter, are you challenging me?”

“Yeah, yeah I am.”

Draco puffs out his chest, “You’re on.”

Harry grins, feeling suddenly excited.  

By the end of the night the floor is littered with colored wrappers and all Harry can think is that Draco was right; he won’t ever be able to look at the sweets without thinking of Draco.


	11. 11 December

The second Harry wakes up he instantly knows that it's far earlier than usual. It's not the glaring sunlight streaming through the window and signaling that he is almost late to work that wakes him; it is warm hands trailing down his back, and soft kisses being lavished across his shoulders.

“Mmmm, morning,” Harry mumbles stifling a yawn as he rolls onto his stomach and curls his toes, reaching his arms and legs out as far as possible and feeling the stretch deep within his sleep filled muscles. “What time is it?”

“Early,” Draco whispers, his hands ghosting down Harry’s back so softly he could almost believe he was still dreaming. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah, I was having a wonderful dream before some prat woke me up,” he groans, not really put out in the least.

“Oh yeah, and was it a good dream?” Draco sounds wide awake.

“Yeah I dreamed I got to sleep in and didn't have to work anymore.”

“You're so melodramatic. You love your job and you know it.”

It's on the tip of Harry’s tongue to say that if either one of them is melodramatic it's definitely Draco, but he thinks better of it, not wanting Draco’s current ministrations on his lower back to stop.

“Why are we awake? S’too early to be awake. Normal people don't want up before the sun.”

Harry shoves his face deeper into the pillow wondering if that might help.

“I was hoping,” Draco begins, his fingertips sliding just beneath the waistband of Harry’s pajama bottoms, “that you would open your door _before_ work today.”

The confession is enough to get Harry’s attention and he grudgingly pulls his face from its hiding place, raising himself up onto his elbows to peer at Draco.

“Right now?”

“Well, I didn't wake you up just to talk.”

“Right... okay, well that's... okay then.”

Draco looks pleased, folding his arms behind his head as he stretches out on the bed, watching Harry stumble across the room sleepily, the soft hint of moonlight casting the room in an almost otherworldly glow. Harry tries to repress the shiver in anticipation he feels pooling somewhere deep inside of him, curious to know what it is about today’s gift that has Draco so keyed up with anticipation to the point he felt the need to wake Harry up much earlier than usual just to _enjoy_ it.

“What is it?” Harry asks, feeling a bit stupid. He rolls the small glass jar back and forth between his hands, not entirely sure what the pale yellow substance is. Draco just raises his eyebrow, as if encouraging Harry to investigate, and so he does. The lid untwists easily and Harry’s nose is immediately assaulted by the strong scent of alcohol.  “Is this-”

“Brandy custard,” Draco finishes, managing to make the words sound far more illicit than should be possible considering they’re talking about a jar of goopy looking yellow stuff.

“Oh,” Harry mumbles, thinking back to the one time Aunt Petunia had made Christmas pudding from scratch. He’d watched her hum to herself as she’d measured and baked and whisked and poured. He’d wondered if his own mother would’ve made Christmas pudding, if she might have let him help. He hadn’t dared ask to try it, already knowing the answer would be no; it was always no. He shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the thoughts, unsure why they keep coming back so many years later. “Draco, please tell me you didn’t wake me up at the crack of dawn to do more baking?”

Draco laughs, a rare one that sounds deep and open, and makes Harry’s face respond with a smile.

"Come here,” Draco beckons, and Harry thinks of nothing but the desire to obey as he climbs back onto the bed beside Draco, careful not to spill the open jar of brandy custard.

“So what exactly are we supposed to do with this... stuff?” he asks, waving the jar about.

“This _stuff_ , as you so simplistically call it, just so happens to be a Malfoy family recipe from my Great Great Aunt, who was French. It contains exactly fourteen eggs, quite a lot of aged brandy, and the delicate touch only a Malfoy could possibly reproduce,” Draco tells him, his voice taking on a bit of breathlessness towards the end of his speech as he reaches out to dip his finger into the custard, offering it to Harry who willing opens his mouth to suck the finger inside. The custard taste much better than it looks, rich and creamy and a strong undercurrent of alcohol. Harry sucks Draco’s finger completely clean, delighting in the way Draco inhales when his finger pops out of Harry’s mouth.

“So, if we’re not making Christmas Pudding, what exactly are we supposed to do with this?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

“Well, I really think since I’m half the party involved in this event the least you could do would be to tell me—” But Draco ignores him, grabbing a hold of Harry’s pajama bottoms and yanking them off so forcefully Harry flies back onto the bed with an ungrateful groan. He doesn’t even get a chance to ask what the hell Draco is doing because Draco’s strong hands are flipping him over, pressing him down into the mattress and spreading his arse apart.

“Draco,” he all but sobs, unable to voice how much he wants this, Draco seems to understand though squeezes his hand in acknowledgment before continuing. Harry swiftly realizes what the brandy custard is for just moments before he feels something warm and wet being drizzled all over his arse and along the base of his spine. He can feel it pool in the small dimples above his arse, dripping into his crack and down the tops of his thighs. He can’t explain it because truthfully it's sort of a strange sensation and it’s meant to be eaten on pudding not out of his arse, but Harry thinks it might be one of the sexiest things Draco has ever done.

Draco’s tongue is confident and greedy as he licks at Harry’s skin, making it vocally clear how much he is enjoying sucking custard off Harry’s right arse cheek. Harry is glad he can shove his face into his pillow to hide his blush, or stop from screaming, or maybe both, because Draco is sucking and slurping and licking him clean at an alarming rate, making noises usually reserved for the dark of night when Harry’s cock is buried deep inside of Draco’s body; they’re sounds of pure abandonment.

“Fuck you have no idea do you, how fucking good you look, how good you taste,” Draco rambled from behind him. “I almost want to flip you over again, cover you in custard and lick it off the flat muscles of your stomach and that place right below your belly button that makes you nearly cry when I suck on it. But I won't, I’ll save that for another day. Today is about this, just your arse, and fuck am I going to enjoy it. You like that Harry? Want to hear the slurping sounds as my tongue presses inside of you? Want to feel the bed moving as I rock against it desperate for some friction against my own cock as I work you open with my mouth?”

Harry thinks he makes a noise of agreement, but he isn’t sure because all the blood is rushing to his head or his cock, and his ears are ringing. Draco laughs, his hands on Harry’s hips again as he yanks him up, helping Harry to get up onto his knees so Draco can get into the position he likes, one hand on each of Harry’s arse cheeks as he spreads him wide. But then he waits, Harry’s face burning with the weight of Draco’s eyes on him.

“I asked you a question, Harry,” he whispers, pressing feather light kisses down the crack of his arse, letting go of one of his cheeks to grab at Harry’s cock pulling it towards him. It’s such a strange angle, his cock pulled away from his body slightly, Draco lapping at his balls and stroking him slowly as the custard drips off his arse.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what.”

“Fucking, fuck... fuck.Yes. I want you to eat me.”

“That wasn’t so hard was it,” Draco murmurs, sounding satisfied. There was a time that tone would have rankled Harry, made him feel like Draco was getting something over on him. Except now that tone of voice goes straight to Harry’s cock and makes him want to do anything, do _everything_ for Draco.

Then Draco moves down, pulling Harry’s cheeks apart once more, and then Harry really does lose the ability to speak because Draco wasn’t kidding; he isn’t just licking Harry he is fucking _devouring_ him.

“Draco,” Harry screams, fists tightening in the sheets and his arse moving back as if trying to get Draco’s mouth even closer. Draco doesn’t stop him, let's Harry arch and whine and fuck his face with his arse as Draco rubs his thumbs in circles around the puckered flesh, his tongue moving in and out he moves to slide a finger inside, wiggling and twisting until he finds Harry’s prostate. Harry slams his hand against the headboard, knocking one of the photos on the wall to the floor with an echoing crash and he doesn’t even care because Draco isn't easing up, pressing down into that spot inside of him over and over and over as he greedily slurps and sucks.

Harry realizes the bed is moving, rocking so hard it’s slamming into the wall, and all he hears is the _bang bang_ of the headboard against the wall and the slurping sound as Draco tries to fuck Harry with his tongue and fingers at the same time, and it's too much and it doesn’t last nearly long enough, but Harry can’t stop the surge of pleasure he feels as his orgasm begins, nor can he stop the swell of magic he feels crackling at his fingertips. All he knows is that he’s coming harder and louder than he has in a very long time.

Harry can hear Draco moaning, hear his fisting cock desperately in his hand a few times before he’s coming all over Harry’s arse and back, dropping down beside him on the bed and breathing heavily into Harry’s ear.

Draco is the first one to speak a few minutes later, and his voice sounds like he’s torn between amusement and pride. “You ruined the pillows.”

“What?” Harry grunts, still refusing to move.

“The pillows. They’re ruined. All of them. Your magic made them go, well, _poof_.”

At his words, Harry jerks his head up, looking around sheepishly as he realizes that indeed all of the bed pillows look like someone cast an _incendio_ on them, bits of cotton and feathers scattered across the floor.

“That was... um,” But he stops, not entirely sure what to say in his defense.

“I’d be mad at you for ruining them, except I’m rather proud of myself for literally fucking the magic out of you, so I’ll let it slide.”

Harry doesn’t have it in him to reply, not when his body still feels weightless with pleasure and that hazy sense of calm he gets after sex with Draco is still permeating his brain.  So he groans, scooting across the bed and collapsing on top of Draco in a boneless heap.

“Oi, I am not a pillow,” Draco chastises, but his arms encircle Harry tightly anyway.

The sunlight is beginning to stream through the window, and Harry knows if he doesn't get up now he will be late for work. They both desperately need a shower and Harry was supposed to get to the office early today, but he can’t be bothered to care. Instead he closes his eyes and falls asleep to the feeling of gentle fingers in his hair.


	12. 12 December

Harry spends the majority of Friday morning actively avoiding his co-workers, several of whom seem to find it funny to use a well placed Sticking Charm to attach copies of his Witch Weekly interview and photoshoot from a few months ago to the outside of his door. The only upside to the embarrassment is that Peterson no longer barges into his office multiple times a day attempting to borrow things Harry is quite positive he doesn’t actually need. **  
**

By mid day he’s so busy with work that he spends the majority of the day out in the field, handling several cases of witches and wizards clearly being driven mad by Holiday stress who were attempting to hex shopkeepers and fellow shoppers. Some even went as far as to send hexes to family members over ridiculous things like whether they’ll have goose or ham. Harry loves Christmas, he loves the sounds and smells and sights and celebrations, everything about it feels warm and comfortable. But for some reason it also seems to bring out the worst in some people making them angry and short tempered and cranky as if the rest of the world is at fault for their own unhappiness, and he’s reminded that this truthfully one of the only times he dislikes his job.

By the end of the day he is feeling tired and fighting off the desire to join the rest of the Wizarding World in their apparent crankiness, but he fights it away, not wanting to bring his bad mood home to Draco. He returns to his office just long enough to change out of his Auror robes and grab his scarf and gloves before he’s finally ready to head home.

Except that on his way out he notices two more copies of the magazine once again spelled to his door, which just serves to magnify his simmering feelings of irritability. It leaves him hot under the collar and out of sorts, now feeling more than just a bit miffed that the magazine keeps coming back no matter how many times he spells it off.

The second he gets home, though, and finds Draco wearing Harry’s joggers and favourite shirt (the one Draco pretends to hate) on the couch and eating Chinese takeaway straight from the container, every single bit of his bad mood diminishes.

“You're home late. Long day?” Draco asks, automatically curling his feet underneath him to make room for Harry.

Harry drops onto the couch, silently accepting the container of food being passed over to him, and he smiles when he sees Draco has ordered his favorite — Crispy Duck and fried rice.  “You have no idea.”

Draco pokes at his food, an unreadable expression on his face. “I might have some idea. Hermione came to my office today about the hearing we have next month since her office is overseeing the file transfers before we present to the Wizengamot. She said she stopped by to see you but you were out.”

Harry looks up, his mouth full of food. Draco blinks a few times before continuing. “Why didn't you tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“About the magazine.”

“Is that what you're worried about? It doesn't matter okay? A few of the guys are just being idiots. I don't care.”

“I care,” Draco says. “And I know you do. I know I shouldn't have sent the Howler, but the idea that he thought he could have you... I-”

Harry knows he needs to stop this before it goes too far, knowing Draco is liable to get himself in a right strop and be a nightmare for days as he wallows in self regret for something Harry doesn't even care about.

“Show me,” he blurts out, setting his food on the coffee table. That seems to get Draco’s attention.

“Show you what?”

“The advent calendar. I want to see what's inside. I don't want to talk about today and I don't want to eat. It's mine, and I want to see what's inside of it right now,”  Harry insists, trying to pull Draco off the couch.

“Demanding little git, aren’t you?” Draco grumbles, but Harry can see the smile he’s trying to repress and he knows his plan for distraction will work.

“No more demanding than you.”

“I’m not demanding. I just happen to know how things should be done, and it’s not my fault if other people need constant reminding all the time about the proper way to do things.”

“Right, course it’s not. Wanker,” Harry laughs, playfully pushing Draco into the bedroom. “So if you know the right way to do things then open the door and show it me.”

Draco pauses for a moment, his eyes boring into Harry’s before he offers a half shrug, feigning indifference, and walks across the room to open door number twelve. He pulls out a small shot glass, holding it out to Harry.

“It’s not more brandy custard is it? Do you know how hard it was to wash that out of every crack. My secretary kept asking me if I smelled Christmas Pudding all day!”

Draco makes a rather undignified snorting sound as he tries and fails to muffle his laughter. “No, it's not Brandy Custard. It’s eggnog.”

“Just eggnog?” Harry asks suspiciously, taking the proffered shot glass and sniffing it. It smells spicy and comforting, and he can’t imagine what else there might be in it, though so far nothing has been exactly what it seemed.

“It might have a heavy handed dose of veritaserum in it.”

Harry almost drops the glass, tightening his hold on it and swallowing down the sudden lump in his throat. His entire body feels hot and there’s a sort of ringing in his ears that has nothing to do with the Christmas music he can still hear playing on the Wireless from the other room.

It’s not until Draco’s fingers are on his face that he realizes Draco must have been talking. “Huh?”

Draco strokes his thumb over the top of Harry’s hand, gently removing the eggnog. “I said we don’t have to do this, Harry. It’s alright.”

Harry doesn’t say anything at first, at war with himself over the things he wants to say and his inability to say them. He recalls with sudden clarity the moment he’d drunkenly confessed to Draco he wanted to take veritaserum before they had sex months ago, had wanted to be able to say all the things he thinks but can never vocalize out loud. But they’d been drunk, both of them, or so he’d thought. Draco had never mentioned it again and Harry had never gotten up the fortitude to do so.

He’s tempted to take Draco up on his offer to not do it, not entirely sure if he can deal with the way he might feel afterward. But Draco’s hand is still stroking his, and there is so much patience and understanding on his face that Harry feels a bit broken already. He’s never been one to back down from he wants, so he steels his courage, and without another word he grabs the shot glass back from Draco and downs it all in one gulp.

The eggnog is thick and rich, the spiciness coating his tongue. He opens his mouth to say something but Draco is crashing their lips together and tangling his hands in Harry’s jumper.

“Fuck, Harry, you have no idea how long I’ve been dreaming about this,” he groans between sloppy kisses, and the shakiness in his voice makes Harry feel oddly powerful.

Harry knows that Draco is aware of how he feels, of what he wants; but he also knows what it's like to hear those things out loud. The things Draco says to him during sex always make him feel aroused and wanted and driven mad with want, and knowing he might finally be able to give that to Draco has him feeling like he’s twenty three all over again, like the first time they fucked; equal parts fucking terrified and exhilarated.

The kiss like that for long minutes, eagerly undressing each other as they also attempt to not stop touching each other as they do so. Harry lets out an easy laugh, feeling oddly light and free. It’s not even that he consciously chooses to do so; he just feels the words falling from his mouth as Draco presses him down into the bed.

“Draco, gods don’t stop. Please don’t stop. I don’t want you to ever stop touching me -- ah, there god yeah, there, fuck,” Harry whines, arching off the bed as Draco’s fingers encircle his cock, his strokes full of confidence.

“Harry, oh fuck, Harry... tell me what you want. How does it feel?”

Harry slams his eyes shut tightly because the potion might make the words easy to say, but the look on Draco’s face is too much to take; is full of so much yearning it makes Harry feel nearly feverish with desire.

“Gods, please, Draco. Fuck me, please,” Harry groans. “Don’t tease me. Not now. I love when you tease me, god, I could have your hands and mouth on me all day and it wouldn’t ever be enough, but I want to feel you now. I want your hard cock shoving into me until I can’t talk because all I can do is scream your name,” he begs, literally unable to stop the flow of words now that they’ve started, and he’s surprised at just how much he doesn’t want to stop them.

Draco shudders, his hands moving frantically now as he prepares Harry, lubed slicked fingers working in and out, scissoring open the tight muscles, and his mouth heaving hot, wet breaths against Harry’s hip.

“Fuck, your fingers should be illegal that's, ah - ah, fuck shove your cock in me right now or I swear to Merlin I might fucking die.” Harry throws his arm over his eyes, as if that might prevent Draco from seeing him.

“Fuck, I should’ve known you’d be fucking bossy like this. So fucking hot, Harry. You have no idea. Fuck, you never have any idea what you do to me, do you?” And then Draco’s hands are on Harry’s legs, lifting them up onto Draco’s shoulders and nearly bending him in half as he presses into Harry swiftly, relentlessly.

Harry’s mouth falls open and he hears himself speaking distantly as if it were someone else. “Draco, Draco, Draco... fuck, I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything or anyone.God, I want you to take me. Everything feels so good when you do, love the way it feels when you’re inside of me, claiming me so I won’t ever be anyone else's. I love when you take control so I don’t have to. Don’t ever want anyone else. Feels so good letting you be in control, Draco. Feels so right. Fucking own me, Draco. Please.”

Harry nearly sobs, feeling Draco’s hands pulling his arm away from his eyes and urging him to open them. And he is so glad when he does; Draco looks wrecked.

When Draco speaks his voice is hoarse and shaky, and Harry hears a kind of vulnerability in it that he’s not used to. “Fuck, Harry, you don’t know, do you? What you do to me... look what you do to me. I love you so fucking much it hurts.”

Harry doesn't say anything this time, isn’t sure he has any words left. He feels a bit as if every single thing he is has been ripped from his body, and it's all he can do not to nearly cry with relief when Draco comes with an audible scream, and then he finally lets himself tip over the edge too as they cling to each other; a tangle of sticky, sweaty skin.

“You’re a noisy git, you know that?” Draco mumbles against Harry’s shoulder, and Harry coughs trying to hold back his laughter, delighting in the way he can feel Draco’s lips turn up in a smile against his flushed skin.

“Takes one to know one.”

“Prat.”

“Wanker.”

“Utter cocksucker.”

Harry can’t hold back anything this time as he dissolves into heavy laughter, rolling them over and pinning Draco down to the bed. Draco looks up at him, a soft grin spreading across his face.

“I love you.”

“I know you do, what’s not to love?”

Harry just shakes his head fondly, amused at the way Draco can speak his mind so freely during sex but tries so hard not to at other times. He thinks maybe they match perfectly that way, both of them able to say what they want and need at different times. And as he links his fingers with Draco, leaning down for just one more kiss, he thinks maybe they were always destined to end up like this, still bickering and challenging each other, but in the end always fighting the world together, instead of fighting each other. 


	13. 13 December

“Fuck. Shit. Bollocks,” Harry mutters to himself, closing his copy of the Prophet and tossing it onto the table and knocking it into his mostly empty breakfast plate. **  
**

Draco lowers his own copy of the paper, peering at Harry over the top of the games and sports section and quirking an eyebrow as if in silent question.

“Today’s the thirteenth,” Harry supplies.

“Yes, it is. Keen observational skills there, Harry. And…?”

“And that means there are only twelve days left until Christmas.”

Draco sets his paper down entirely this time, lifting his teacup to his mouth and blowing on it before taking a slow sip. He watches Harry intently before he speaks. “Harry, are you trying to tell me you didn’t know what the date was? Even though you have an advent calendar in our bedroom and have been opening numbered doors on a daily basis for the last twelve days?”

When Draco says it like that it makes Harry feel even more daft. It's not that he didn't realize the date exactly; it's just that his brain hadn't really made the connection between what the day was and what that meant for the list of things he needed to do before Christmas.

“You haven't done your Christmas shopping yet, have you?” Draco guesses.

“I mail ordered that book Hermione asked for about Love Potions and consent laws last week…” Harry’s voice trailed off at the end.

“Right, well I was going to see if you wanted to spend the day shagging, but seeing as you're going to be busy all day I think I'll see if my mother is free for tea.”

“You're not going to help me shop?” Harry asks.

“Absolutely not. I tried to take you with me last month and you said you'd rather go to Cannons match with Weasley.”

Harry drops his head into his hands, not caring how pathetic he sounds. “But Diagon Alley is going to be packed- there’s less than two weeks until Christmas! I think I'd rather sit through a lecture with Snape again that have to deal with that by myself.”

“I'm sorry, but I'm not going to lie to you - you're right, it is going to be absolutely awful. Which is exactly why I told you to start your shopping last month.” Draco’s voice has taken on that haughty tone he sometimes gets when he really wants to tell someone I Told You So, but doesn't.

“Bill and Fleur will be home Christmas Day with the kids. And Andromeda said she was going to stop by with Teddy. I'm pretty sure Ron mentioned something about Charlie bringing home someone too. And Ginny will be off from training that week, so her and Luna are definitely stopping by. Fuckity fuck fuck, so that means-” He pauses, licking his lips as he does a mental tally. “I've got to buy more than fifteen gifts today.”

Draco lets out a low whistle. “Yes, well, you better be off then. You're going to be gone all day shopping.”

“I hate shopping.”

“Stop whinging and get it done. Besides, the sooner you leave the sooner you get home, and the sooner you get home the sooner you get to open your door.”

Harry grins, pleased with the promise of another surprise.

“Alright, alright. I’m going.”

“Pick me up some roasted chestnuts from old Mr. Barnaby if his stand is up. But buy them just before you come home otherwise they won't still be warm. And make sure he scoops them from the back, not the front.”

“Bossy wanker,” Harry grumbles, dropping a quick kiss to the top of Draco’s head before grabbing a handful of Floo powder and heading on his way.

As expected Diagon Alley turns out to be an absolute madhouse. Every shop is so full you can barely move and there are so many peddlers selling things like jewelry and mulled cider that there’s barely room to walk up and down the cobbled street.

It takes Harry nearly all day to get his shopping done, finding it impossible to leave Quality Quidditch Supplies without trying out the newest model of broom, before buying anything for Bill and Fleur’s kids. He also gets stuck in a rather boring and long conversation with the shopkeeper at Twillfoot and Tatting’s about the superiority of cashmere over dragonhide while trying to buy Draco’s mother a pair of gloves, and is stopped by at least four different children asking if he really defeated You Know Who, and did he know Father Christmas. He then spends well over an hour scouring the shelves of the secondhand bookshop looking for an out of print cookbook Mrs. Weasley had offhandedly mentioned wanting months ago. He spends the longest time, however, filling his arms with a ridiculous amount of toys and games for Teddy from a large stall at the end of the street. The entire stall is packed tight with fantastical toys that Harry wishes he'd had as a child, so when he finds himself unable to pick just one he ends up buying almost all of them. He figures it's alright because it's his job to spoil Teddy, and if it just so happens that Harry can play the games with him when he goes to visit, well he thinks that would be alright too.

The problem, though, is that as the day wears on so does his patience. His arms are loaded up with so many packages he can barely carry them, and no matter how many stores he goes into he can't find a single thing he wants to buy Draco. Sure he sees plenty of things he thinks Draco would like -a self inking Phoenix feather quill at Amanuensis Quills or the deluxe set of rare potion ingredients at the Apothecary - but none of the things he finds are just right, because he knows Draco could easily go and buy any of those things himself if he wanted.

Resigned to the fact that he will clearly have to spend another day shopping, he finally calls it a day when he realizes it's nearly half past six, the sun has set, and he still hasn't eaten anything since breakfast. By the time he gets home he’s starving and half frozen.

“Oh my god, please say that’s steak and ale pie I smell?” Harry shouts as he steps through the Floo in the living room, his stomach growling loudly as he inhales the comforting aroma. He drops his packages by the tree and heads to the kitchen to find Draco.

Draco is pulling something out of the oven when he walks in, and Harry is pleased to see that is indeed his favorite meal, something Draco rarely makes, which only makes Harry appreciate it even more. The top is glistening and Harry groans as Draco serves it up, the flaky crust crumbling as he puts a large serving onto Harry’s plate.

“Have I mentioned I love you?” Harry murmurs into the back of Draco’s neck.

“Fuck, your nose is cold, and your hands!” Draco shouts, swatting Harry’s hands away from where they are currently trying to worm their way under Draco’s jumper.

“Sorry,” Harry shrugs, gratefully accepting his dinner and sitting at the table, practically inhaling a huge bite before Draco has even sat down.

“Good lord, you didn’t eat at all today, did you?”

“Was busy,” Harry mumbles around a large mouthful of food.

Draco shakes his head, taking a much smaller bite than Harry before speaking. “I think you might actually starve to death without me.”

Harry looks up, a momentary twinge filling his stomach at the idea of ever doing anything without Draco, but he pushes it aside. “I guess I have to keep you then.”

Draco doesn’t say anything, but Harry can see him fighting back a smile as he takes a much larger bite than normal. The rest of the meal passes in companionable silence, and Harry relishes in the sense of contentment he feels seeping over him.

By the time he’s done eating Harry has managed to put away two full plates of food and three glasses of wine. He feels stuffed to the brim, just a little tipsy, and altogether cheerful. He’s not sure if it's the Christmas music that’s been playing or the fact that his stomach is full of his favorite meal, or maybe just being near Draco; he just knows he feels good.

So, it seems natural that they don’t even say it, just both find themselves moving to the bedroom after dinner towards the advent.

Harry opens the door eagerly, momentarily shocked when he sticks his hand inside, because whatever's in there is absolutely freezing, which is a such stark contrast to the warmth permeating every inch of their flat. Wrapping his fingers around the object he pulls out what turns out to be a perfectly round ball of snow, obviously enchanted since it hasn’t started to melt despite the warmth of the bedroom.

Neither of them speaks as Harry undresses, almost as if there is something fragile in the air that neither of them want to break.

Once they’re both naked, Harry lets Draco push him back onto the bed, watching in anticipation as Draco leans above him, the ball of snow held just above Harry’s chest. Harry knows it will be cold - it's snow for fucks sake - but nothing can prepare him for that first touch of it against his skin, for the chill shooting through his entire body as Draco glides the snow down his hip.

For once, Harry is glad Draco isn’t speaking. He savors the stillness in the air, his every sense honed into the way the snowball feels being dragged across his body. His stomach quivers and he lifts his head to watch in fascination as Draco moves his tongue down to follow the path of the snow. He groans, Draco’s mouth feeling so warm and soft - a complete juxtaposition to the snow.

It goes on like that for what feels like forever; cold snow and then a hot, demanding mouth on Harry’s skin, touching him everywhere except his cock, which is hard and leaking by the time Draco murmurs, “Roll over,” against the drops of sweat building on his thigh. Harry isn’t used to being hard for so long, even when Draco teases him, and it makes him feel a bit desperate.

Harry complies with Draco’s request easily, his entire body taut with awareness. Even the sheets feel different somehow as they slide against his fevered skin when he rolls over. He shoves his face into his pillow and moans unabashedly as his cock rubs against the mattress, his hands fisted tightly in the sheets. He expects Draco to chastise him for being impatient, but Draco doesn’t, and Harry takes that as silent permission, not even caring what he might look like rutting against the mattress. He just wants to come, and he feels a bit frantic, letting out a guttural whimper when the ball of snow is dragged down the crack of his arse, teasing along his balls and dropping a few tiny droplets of water onto his aching cock.

“Please,” he begs, not even sure what it is he’s asking for.

When the ball of snow is removed, Harry tenses, waiting for it to return, but instead Draco’s body moves to cover his back, Draco’s cock hot and hard against Harry’s chilled arse. It feels so good Harry does the only thing he can think of, and pushes back against Draco, before moving himself forward trying to get more friction on his own cock. Draco picks up on the idea quickly, thrusting down relentlessly until Harry isn’t sure where he begins and the mattress ends.

Harry feels like he’s twenty-three again, like the first time he and Draco had gotten off together, frotting until they’d come just a few minutes after they had begun, all feeling and no skill whatsoever. It’s uncoordinated and the dry friction chafes a little, but it just feels so good. The pre-come from Draco’s cock leaks against his skin as Draco’s cock moves up and down Harry’s arse, while Draco’s mouth bites down on Harry’s right shoulder. Harry rubs himself into the bed so hard he wonders if he might actually rub the skin off of his own cock, but he can’t stop; can’t stop the way his hips move or the way his heart feels like it might burst right out of his chest, and he definitely can’t stop himself from coming hard and fast all over the bed, nearly ripping a hole in the sheets when Draco bites down on his neck as he comes rather loudly too a few frantic thrusts later. Draco’s nails dig into Harry’s hips so hard that he knows he will definitely have bruises tomorrow.

Draco collapses down on top of Harry, his hands much gentler now as they stroke over the tender skin of his neck.

“You’re fucking kinky, you know that?” Harry huffs out, possessing absolutely zero energy to move.

“Takes one to know one,” Draco mumbles, reminding Harry very much of himself. He thinks perhaps he’s had a bad influence on Draco’s language usage. For some reason, that pleases him immensely.

“M’tired,” Harry yawns, still completely refusing to move a muscle, pretty sure he’s going to remain face down on this bed for the next ten years.

Draco hums his agreement, now pressing kisses to the bite mark on Harry’s neck, dragging his tongue across it and making Harry hiss in pleasure, his entire body feels suddenly far too sensitive. Draco seems to realize without him needing to say it, and rolls off Harry’s back and grabs his wand. He casts a quiet cleaning charm on them both before pulling the blankets over them, throwing an arm across Harry’s back and nuzzling into his side.


	14. 14 December

**  
**“Draco, have you seen my green jumper?” Harry yells, head buried inside the wardrobe as he throws clothes onto the floor. **  
**

“No, I haven’t,” Draco answers, walking into the bedroom and leaning against the doorframe. “But it wouldn’t matter if I had because you aren’t wearing it tonight anyway.”

Harry’s head shoots up. “Why not?”

“Because it’s no longer just Hermione and Ron’s annual Christmas party - it’s also their engagement party, which means you cannot show up wearing the same green jumper you wear every Christmas matched with that ratty pair of jeans.”

Harry looks down at his bare chest and his jeans frowning. “I like them.”

Draco’s face breaks out in a wicked grin. “Mhmm, I like them too. Makes your arse look amazing. Doesn’t change the fact that you’re not wearing them tonight. They aren’t dressy enough.”

Harry finally notices what Draco is wearing - a pair of impeccably tailored grey trousers that cling to his long legs and a white button up shirt that almost looks like it was spelled on its so tight. Draco crosses his arms across his chest, making the fabric pull against his biceps, and Harry groans trying to remember they do not have time for anything, not even a quick handjob, or they’re going to be late.

“Fine, but what am I going to wear then?”

He resigns himself to the fact that Draco has probably hidden his jumper and that there’s no point arguing about it now - not unless he wants to either show up to the party late or naked, neither of which are particularly appealing to him.

“I have a perfectly respectable outfit already picked out for you,” Draco says happily, moving to his own wardrobe to pull out a pair of black trousers and a dark green shirt that looks like it might be made out of silk.

“You stole my jumper, didn’t you?” Harry asks.

“It’s merely an amiable coincidence that I happen to have a perfectly respectable outfit prepared for you right when you just so happen to misplace yours,” Draco replies. “You should really thank me for always being more prepared than you.”

Harry can't think of a suitable reply to that so he rolls his eyes, undoing the buttons on his jeans and letting them fall to the floor in a rumpled pile. He extends his arm towards the outfit Draco is holding, but Draco shakes his head, taking two steps backwards.

“Take those off too,” he instructs.”

“What the hell is wrong with my pants?”

“Off.”

Harry grumbles, but hooks his fingers in the waistband and pushes them down to his ankles, giving Draco a defiant look. If they weren't already bordering on being late he would be protesting quite vocally right now.

Draco however still refuses to hand over the new clothes, moving back until he's standing right next to the advent house. “I think there's something in there you're going to want to see before we leave.”

“What is it, new pants dusted in twenty-four carat gold flakes?”

“You are ridiculous.”

Harry opens his mouth to argue, but he thinks better of it and opens the door marked with a number fourteen. Whatever it is that's inside seems to be stuck, but he manages to grasp it with several fingers and yanks it out. He turns to give Draco an incredulous look.

“You've got to be having me on.”

“It's festive,” Draco supplies, looking breathless all the sudden.

“Where the hell did you get this?” Harry asks, waving the large green butt plug in the air. He turns it over in his hands running his hands over it and feeling the way the rounded edges sort of ripple down the sides, the bottom noticeably wider than the top which makes it look very much like a sodding Christmas tree.

“I had it custom made.”

“That's…” But Harry swallows, not quite sure what it is. It seems a bit ridiculous, imagining Draco owling someone the specifics to make a Christmas themed sex toy. Yet the idea turns him on more than he cares to admit. Imagining Draco planning and plotting, then finally holding the thing in his hands while thinking about pressing it inside Harry’s body sends a thrill of desire through Harry, and his cock starts to lengthen, something Draco is quick to notice as his eyes roam over Harry’s body.

Harry can't take his eyes off the base of the plug, which looks a little wider than anything he's used to having inside him.Definitely a bit more ample at the bottom than Draco’s cock. He can't imagine going to the party and having to see Ron and Hermione, along with most of the Weasleys and some of his colleagues, while he has this thing shoved up his arse, but then Draco’s hand encircles his own around the plug, and he knows what Draco clearly knows too; Harry really fucking wants this.

“You want me to prepare you, don't you?” Draco whispers. “Get you open and ready and then press this thing inside of you until you're so full you can barely breathe. You want to stay that way all night for me, don't you Harry? Let me place my hand on your back while we make small talk with all our friends, knowing you're nearly split in two waiting for me to take you.”

“Fucking hell, Draco.”

“Oh trust me,” Draco says, voice hot and heavy against Harry’s ear, “There will be a lot of fucking later.”

Harry opens his mouth to call him a tease, but then Draco is dropping to his knees to suck on the wings of Harry’s tattoo, whispering a lubrication spell before pressing his fingers inside Harry and stretching him open so thoroughly that by the time he is sliding the plug inside, Harry wants to scream. His only consolation is that Draco surprises him by taking his cock into his mouth and sucking

They end up being very late to the party. He suspects Hermione has some idea why because she keeps shooting him knowing looks over her glass of champagne until Ron asks him for the third time why they were nearly an hour late and she gently touches his arm and says “Come on, love,” leading him away to speak to someone else. Harry can't recall the last time he was so grateful that Hermione is so perceptive, even if he does find it just a tad embarrassing.

Once Hermione and Ron have left them Harry initially thinks that perhaps it won't be so difficult, because the alcohol is flowing freely, the music is rather cheerful, and he’s genuinely so pleased to see everyone that at least for a few minutes he almost forgets about the Christmas tree sex toy currently sitting inside of him. That is until he spots Luna.

“Harry! Draco! Happy Christmas!” She shouts happily, throwing her arms around Harry who feels a buzzing in his arse that takes him by such surprise he nearly knocks Luna over. “Oh, well I'm quite glad to see you too, Harry. You know I think it's so lovely when men aren't afraid to show affection. You should try to be more like Harry here, Draco. Let out some of those pent-up emotions. In fact, I'm holding a rain circle at the park next week and you should really come, both of you.”

Draco looks like he's trying very hard not to laugh, and Harry just knows it can't be a good thing.

“Uhhh, yeah sure. Maybe,” he agrees.

“It's perfectly alright to say no, Harry. I won't be upset. You really are still such a horrible liar. Oh dear, I think I see Ginny, do excuse me.”

And with that she's off, fluttering across the room happily and leaving Harry torn on what exactly he wants to say to Draco when Percy approaches them halting any further thoughts of questioning.

“Hello, Harry... Draco,” Percy nods, his body taut with apprehension.

“You haven't seen Ronald around have you? I think he's avoiding me and I do so need to have a word with him before I go.”

“Where are you going?” Draco asks, sounding genuinely curious. As if prolonging this conversation with Percy will somehow make Harry forget what just happened. Draco never wants to talk to Percy.

“I've got to head to Brussels tomorrow, horrible botch up with the paperwork for-” but he stops at the sound of Ron laughing jovially from the kitchen. “I should've known he'd be by the food, please excuse me gentlemen, and since I won't see you before then, Happy Christmas.”

Harry is about to say it back to him when the plug begins to vibrate again, and Harry reaches out grabbing ahold of Draco’s arm to steady himself, closing his eyes until the wave of unexpected pleasure subsides leaving him feeling a bit shaky and half erect.

Draco places a warm hand on Harry’s back leaning in closely to whisper, “I might have forgotten to mention it's charmed to do that every time someone says Happy Christmas.”

On queue, it vibrates again and Harry has to bite his bottom lip to stop from moaning, trying and failing to will his arousal down.

“Fuck... you,” he grounds out.

Draco looks victorious, the slightest tinge of pink blossoming on the back of his neck. “Perhaps. But really, I think by the end of the night it's going to be me fucking you.”

Harry spends the next half hour with his hand wrapped so tightly around Draco’s wrist he hopes it doesn’t leave marks, while what feels like every single person at the party finds their way over to them to wish them a Happy Christmas and make inane small talk. After the ninth person, Harry gives up even trying to speak and just grunts when he is addressed. Luckily by that point most people there have had so much to drink and are well on their way to being absolutely smashed that they don’t seem to notice the way Harry shudders, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his face as tries not to hump the air when they offer their holiday greetings.

Draco, for all intents and purposes, appears completely composed as he offers polite greetings and leads Harry around the room, making sure to evenly distribute their attention among the party goers. But Harry knows Draco; he knows what the unconscious tightness in his shoulders means and that the flush on his face has absolutely nothing to do with the three glasses of champagne he’s had, and that is has everything to do with him wanting to fuck Harry against the nearest wall. If Harry weren't so close to being driven mad with arousal or half drunk he would probably tease Draco, but instead all he can manage is to grab him by the shirt, ignoring his hushes protests when Harry drags them down the hallway and into the loo.

Draco opens his opens his mouth to speak but Harry doesn’t give him the chance, shoving him back against the closed door and nearly crying out with joy at the feeling of Draco’s hard cock rubbing up against his.

“I... fucking... swear,” Harry gasps out, not caring that his hands are absolutely maiming Draco’s hair or that he thinks he might have ripped the button off his trousers. “If you don’t fuck me right now I’m never speaking to you again.”

“Merlin’s tits, you’re bossy,” Draco groans out, his hands just as eager as they practically rip Harry’s trousers and pants off.

Harry pulls away suddenly, just standing there for a few long moments; his own shirt is unbuttoned and hanging off his shoulders and his pants are pooled around his ankles. his chest heaving as he watches Draco, who looks just as wrecked, his shirt still on and his own trousers in a crumpled heap on the floor. There is something in the air Harry can’t identify, something hypnotizing about the look of desperation on Draco’s face that lets Harry know without a shred of doubt he isn’t the only one so fucking close to losing every ounce of self-control he has ever possessed.

“Happy Christmas, Harry,” Draco whispers, and that does it; the vibration rings through Harry’s entire body and he just moans, that last veil of his restraint shattering.

Harry just hopes everyone is drunk enough not to pay attention to the sounds they’re making as Draco pulls the plug out of Harry. He nearly sobs at the loss before Draco turns him around, one hand on each of Harry’s as he helps Harry steady himself against the wall before he slams into him almost mercilessly. Draco’s voice is loud, urging Harry on with words so filthy Harry wants to scream, slamming his hands against the wall as the sounds of their fucking fill the air, all slapping skin and panting breaths.

It takes Harry a few minutes to come back to himself after he’s finally come, dimly aware of someone banging on the door as Draco comes with a strangled groan against Harry’s neck.

“Oi - are two done fucking or what? Some of us need to use the loo!” Harry thinks it’s Seamus’s voice but his brain still feels sort of hazy and he can’t be sure.

“Piss off!” Draco yells against Harry’s skin.

“I’m trying to piss!” And yeah, that’s definitely Seamus’s voice. “Some wankers, however, have chosen to loudly fuck in the only loo in this whole house!”

Harry lets out a sigh. “You think they all heard us?”

Draco’s laugh is quiet, the only quiet sound he’s made all night, and Harry feels it reverberate across his shoulders.

“Pretty sure they all heard you.”

Harry wants to protest, but he’s honestly not sure which one of them did most of the screaming, and since the likely candidate is himself he wisely chooses to drop the subject. Seamus bangs on the door again when it becomes obvious they aren’t leaving.

“Fuck off you two, I need to piss!”

“We already did fuck, thanks! It’s was fucking fantastic!” Draco shouts, and Harry is grateful they’re already hiding because his body flushes with embarrassment.

“You utter cocksuckers!” Seamus yells, trying to bang the door down.

“Actually there was no cocksucking this time, but thanks for the idea!” Draco says loudly.

Harry can hear Seamus scream in frustration on the other side of the door, and he can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation, with Draco and Seamus both trying to get a rise out of the other one. He’s tempted to let Seamus know he won’t ever win this fight when an idea strikes him and he finally turns himself around, disappointed to find that Draco has started to redress. He much prefers him naked.

“How long do you think it’ll take Seamus to realize we’re not in here if we apparate straight home?” he asks.

“Why, Potter, I didn’t know you had it in you. I knew there was a reason I loved you.”

Harry’s stomach flips and he tries to hide his face as he busies himself with putting his clothing back on, allowing Draco to take his arm and side-along them both home, the sound of Seamus’s drunken tirade the last thing they hear.


	15. 15 December -

“Argh, I hate Mondays,” Harry bemoans, taking his pillow and shoving it over his head in an attempt to block out the sunlight currently bothering his eyes. No matter how many times he spells the bloody curtains shut they manage to open by morning.

He feels the bed dip as Draco moves beside him, his bare leg sliding against Harry’s own. “You’re so grumpy in the mornings.”

Harry lifts the pillow just enough to speak. “Like you’re a fucking pleasure.”

The bed shifts as Draco moves away from him instead of towards him, disappointment pooling in his stomach before he hears Draco’s voice from across the room. He sounds amused. “If you want a blowjob in the shower before work then you better fucking get out of bed, Potter.”

Harry nearly falls out of bed at his words, tossing his pillow on the floor carelessly and chasing Draco down the hallway, their laughter echoing through the quiet flat. Twenty-five minutes later Harry is in a much better mood, smoothing out the creases of his Auror robe as he reaches for a handful of floo powder from the mantle above the fireplace in their kitchen.

“You do realize you're going to starve to death. Take this,” Draco tells him, his voice leaving no room for argument as he shoves a buttered crumpet into Harry’s hand. “And try to wipe that self-satisfied look off your face if you don’t want the entire Department to know you got some this morning.”

“I’m pretty sure they’ll all know I got some last night by the time I get there anyway since half my team was at Ron and Hermione’s, bloody gossiping nuisances the whole lot of them. Honestly, I could walk in naked with a sign that says ‘I let Draco Malfoy fuck my face’ and they probably wouldn't be surprised anymore.”

“That’s not a half bad idea actually,” Draco acknowledges, taking a bite of his own crumpet. This time it's he who looks rather satisfied.

“Yeah well... wait, no. No! Draco, I was joking.”

Draco waves his hand around dismissively, clearly lost in thought. Harry shakes his head in exasperation, throwing the floo powder into the fireplace and heading to work, leaving Draco to his musings.

Harry really had mostly been joking when he’d told Draco the entire Department would know about what happened in the loo last night by the time he got into the office. He had not actually expected them all to know. However if the whistles, blushes, and knowing looks being shot his way as he makes his way through the Auror department are anything to go by, then he is pretty sure that yes, the entire Department now knows.

It isn’t until a few hours later when Ron drops by with takeaway for lunch that he finds out why.

“You probably shouldn’t have done that to Seamus,” Ron tells him, swallowing down a mouthful of curry.

“How was I supposed to know this would happen?”

Ron suddenly looks deeply uncomfortable. “There's something else.”

Harry looks up from his lunch, frowning. He should've known there was a reason Ron brought his favorite Tikka Masala for lunch. “What the bloody hell else could there be?”

“Ah... well. Fuck, I wish Hermione would've done this, but she thought perhaps it would be better if it came from me...”

“Just spit it out, Ron. I’m sure I can handle whatever it is.”

“Seamus might have possibly found your Christmas shaped butt plug in the bathroom once he managed to get the door unlocked, and he might have possibly used a cleaning charm on it and then put it on display at the party. He's made a bit of a trophy out of it. Says you two win the award for most obnoxious fucking in a public place.”

Harry just stares at Ron without saying a word.

“You still with me, mate?”

“Bloody fucking hell.”

Ron looks a bit more sympathetic as he reaches over to pat Harry’s knee in what is probably supposed to be a supportive manner but somehow just serves to make him more embarrassed.

“Harry, mate, I have to ask - how the hell do you forget something like that?”

“I was a little preoccupied.”

Ron holds up his hands as he shakes his head. “Nevermind forget I asked. I don't want to know. Next time just, you know… well, I was going to say to wait next time, but that’s probably asking too much. Just for Merlin's sake, next time just use our bedroom, as long as you don’t tell Hermione I told you that because she made me promise to tell you off for having sex in the middle of the party.”

“Sorry, I...” but Harry trails off, suddenly feeling guilty even though he’s not completely sure why.

“Oh my god you're going to make me say it, aren't you?”

“Say what?”

“You know... it.” Ron waves his long arms around in a confusing manner as if it's supposed to mean something.

“Ron, I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“You're apologizing and looking embarrassed for getting caught having sex... with your boyfriend, who you live with. I mean, okay yeah — next time, if you absolutely have to fuck in our loo, try to remember you're a bloody wizard and use a privacy spell for fucks sake. But otherwise, well...” and Harry can see Ron steeling himself for something. “Otherwise stop apologizing and stop caring what other people think. Malfoy makes you happy... really happy. And he's still pretty fucking annoying, but he's sort decent too and he treats you good. Thing is, Harry, you're not like my brother you're something different... something more, and I just want you to be happy. After all the shit we’ve been through it’s the least you deserve. I just wish you saw it too. And if Malfoy makes you this happy then I think you should hold onto that and never let go.”

“Oh my god,” Harry whispers, just staring. He wonders which one of them is more uncomfortable. Probably Ron if the shade of red his face is currently turning is anything to go by.

“Listen, you were getting pathetic, so it had to be said. But Harry, if you even think about bringing this conversation up again, or tell Malfoy, I will deny ever saying anything nice about him and will furthermore strip you of your title as my best mate.”

Harry knows better than to argue. For all Ron’s current bravado, and despite the fact that he and Draco have been living together for almost six months, he knows this is still uncharted territory for them, and he feels a deep sense of appreciation for his friend in that moment; for how very much he is trying to accept Draco into their lives.

“So did you hear the Cannons are interviewing new seekers?” Harry asks abruptly, watching as Ron’s entire body sags in relief at the subject change. They spend the next hour like that, finishing off enough food for at least four people, and falling into easy conversation about Quidditch.

Harry spends the remainder of the day in such a good mood that nothing can bring it down, not even the copies of Witch Weekly once again spelled to his office door along with a crudely done drawing near his hand which he assumes is meant to be the now infamous sex toy trophy. He finds himself laughing inexplicably, using his quill to draw an ugly star on the top of the illustration and adding few oddly shaped blobs that are meant to be baubles.

When Harry floos home that night, it's to the sight of Draco making some kind of pasta, a glass of red wine balanced in his left hand as he reads out the ingredients off the cookbook perched against the side of the bottle of wine. Something swells inside of him, his chest aching suddenly, and Harry doesn’t think he will ever get tired of coming home and knowing Draco will always be there too.

“Are you just going to stand there and watch me like some sort of demented voyeur, or do you want to make yourself useful and chop the garlic?” Draco drawls, not turning around as he slides the knife and garlic across the counter to make room for Harry to join him.

“I was kinda thinking about watching you to be honest.”

“You absolute git. You are the laziest human I have ever met.”

“Says the man who once summoned the lube off the floor so he didn’t have to get out of bed.”

“That was not lazy, it was ingenious. I was utilizing my magic to its full potential to help preserve my physical strength. How else was I supposed to keep my promise to fuck you all night? ”

Harry snorts, wondering at what moment his brain made the switch and decided that instead of being annoying, Draco’s strange sense of logic was adorable. Probably somewhere around their fifth date when Draco had pressed Harry down into the bed and whispered I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll never be able to have sex without thinking of me, I’m going to utterly ruin you for anyone else ever again, Potter. They’d both been smashed then, and the words had been murmured against his back so quietly Harry never was completely sure if he was actually supposed to have heard them. It was months before Harry realized that Draco hadn’t ruined Harry the way he meant because it wasn’t that he wouldn’t ever be able to let anyone fuck him again; it was that Draco had ruined his heart from ever being able to love anyone else ever again.

“Harry, are you listening to me?” Draco asks, his face taking on that pinched look of annoyance as he snaps his fingers in front of Harry’s face.

“No,” Harry answers automatically, earning himself a rather dirty look.

“Why am I even bothering, I mean—” but Harry cuts him off with a soft kiss, taking Draco’s wine glass out of his hand and setting it down on the counter before trying to pull him towards the bedroom. Draco hesitates for only a second, looking at the pot on the stove. Harry grins, casting a quick stasis charm and ignoring Draco’s flimsy protests about needing food as he practically drags him down the hallway.

“I can think of other things I’d rather eat.”

Draco looks ready to argue, then smirks instead, pushing Harry towards the advent. Harry’s cock twitches in anticipation. It takes him longer than usual to find the door, finally reaching out for the medium sized door with the green number fifteen in the bottom corner. He reaches inside, his finger’s closing around something very soft and fuzzy. Curious about what it could be,  he pulls it out and realizes it’s a Santa hat.

Then Draco is there beside him, pulling the hat from his hands and placing it atop his own head with a look that can only be described as predatory. Harry shivers, assaulted with memories of the last time he saw Draco wearing that hat last Christmas; reminded of the things he said, the things he _did_.

“Someone told me you’ve been a very bad boy this year, Harry.”

“I— wait what?!” Harry stammers because that wasn’t what he was expecting Draco to say at all.

Draco practically leers, a few wisps of hair falling into his forehead and his eyes shining brightly as he begins to undress Harry with experience. “I think you heard me. You’ve been a very, very bad boy. I think you need to be punished.”

“I... I do?” Harry gasps out, trying to understand why Draco telling him he’s been bad can arouse him almost as much as telling him he’s been good. He briefly wonders if he would get a hard-on from Draco telling him he looked like a toad, when he realizes Draco has stripped him naked, and instead of pushing him down onto the bed is leading him into the living room.

“What are we doing?”

“Harry, you’ve been a very, very bad boy. I don’t think you should ask any questions unless I tell you that you can. Can you do that for me?”

“I— yeah. Okay,” he breathes out heavily, trying desperately not to ask what the hell Draco is playing at when he backs him up against the Christmas tree.

Harry doesn’t even know when Draco picked up his own wand, but he watches with rapt attention as Draco murmurs something that makes the long strings of silver ribbon unravel from the tree, coming around to twist around his wrists and ankles snugly. It’s tight enough that it makes it hard to move, and the ribbon itches his skin just a bit, but that’s nothing compared to the way the needles on the tree are poking into his back and arse. He feels mildly uncomfortable and incredibly aroused. He’s not sure if he wants to fuck Draco, have Draco fuck him, or to just scream fuck you when Draco moves backward to undress himself slowly, never taking his eyes off of Harry.

Harry holds his breath, trying his hardest to be quiet, but he can’t help himself when instead of touching him Draco moves to lay back on the rug in front of the fireplace and begins to languidly stroke his own cock.

“What the hell?”

Draco just tuts, shaking his head and arching his neck back as he drags his thumb over the pre-come building on his cock. “Mmm, no, Harry. I told you not ask questions. And... ugh, you need to... nggh,” he groans, bringing his other hand around to fondle his balls. Harry tugs on the ribbons, and the tiny glass baubles on the tree make a soft jingling noise as the entire tree shakes. Draco stops touching himself to look up at the sound. “Those baubles are hand blown from Naples, try not to break them.” He gives Harry a rather pointed look, and then resumes stroking himself, moaning unabashedly and clearly putting on a show for Harry.

“God it's a pity you can’t touch me,” Draco groans, laying down on the rug and angling his hips up as he strokes himself as if he has all the time in the world, his head tilted to the side and his eyes shut. He looks utterly relaxed and his chest rises and falls slowly as he touches himself, emitting tiny whimpers on every upstroke.

Harry opens his mouth but then snaps it shut, knowing if he says something Draco will just prolong this, and no matter how hot it is watching Draco get himself off, Harry wants to touch him with a intensity that would frighten him if he weren’t already so familiar with the sensation.

“God... god this feels so good.”

Harry tries to count to a hundred in his head to distract himself, but he has to stop at number twenty-two when he realizes he must have lost brain cells at some point tonight because he cannot remember what number comes next, cannot think about anything except Draco’s cock which is rock hard and dripping.

Harry closes his eyes, trying to calm down his rapid breathing, but then Draco makes a hitching sound, the same one he makes when he is close to his orgasm and Harry opens his eyes, has to see it for himself. This time he doesn’t even think of looking away; just watches Draco’s long fingers stroke himself. He knows Draco’s body, knows that look in his eyes, and knows the tension in his arms as he gets closer.

But then Draco pulls his hands away from his cock to reach for his discarded wand, pointing it at Harry and gasping out a preparation spell they rarely use —Draco usually likes to do it by hand, but they both know the spell by heart for the times when they’re too impatient. Harry’s entire body feels ready to explode at the realization that Draco is going to fuck him.

He wants to beg, but he doesn’t, just bites his bottom lip and holds himself still, his arms and legs beginning to shake with the effort of not moving. Draco’s eyes soften for a moment and he whispers the spell to release the binds and Harry collapses to his knees panting.

“Come here, Harry.” His voice is gentle and mingled with arousal. Draco spreads his legs, an unspoken invitation. Harry doesn’t need Draco to say the words because he knows he was good, and now he gets the prize for his patience.

Harry wills his body to move, crawling across the floor and placing his hands on Draco’s chest as he straddles him, sinking down on Draco’s cock with a moan and screwing his eyes shut because he doesn’t want to come yet.

Draco drops his head back to the floor with a loud thud, then he moves his hands behind his head casually as if he were taking a nap, and he has the nerve to wink at Harry as if he weren’t exercising all his self-control not to come.

“I knew you could be a good boy. Go on then. Take your reward.”

Harry doesn’t need to be told twice, as he lifts himself up and slams himself down almost brutally as if daring Draco to try to remain composed. Harry knows Draco loves this, loves watching Harry fuck himself on Draco’s cock, and he wants Draco to know he isn’t the only one who can put on a show.

Harry throws his head back, moving his hands across his own chest, twisting his nipples between his fingertips and darting his tongue out to lick his lips as he uses nothing but his thigh muscles to raise himself up and down.

Draco lasts all of three thrusts before his hands are on Harry’s hips, digging in tightly and trying to pull Harry down as close as possible. It spurs something on, something wild and needy, as they move together. Harry can feel the change, knows moments before its happen that Draco is going to come as Draco wraps his fingers around Harry’s cock, trying to bring him with him. It only takes a few firm strokes before Harry is collapsing on top of Draco, feeling boneless and deeply satisfied.

“You’re supremely heavy, do you know that,” Draco mumbles into Harry’s hair.

Harry wiggles a bit, refusing to move. “Don’t care.”

“What do you care about, you pillock?”

Harry closes his eyes, inhaling the scent of Draco’s cologne mixed with the heady scent of sex, the way the trace scent of pine from their Christmas tree wafts through the room and is enhanced by the smell of the crackling fire.

“ _You_ ,” Harry whispers.


	16. 16 December

If Monday’s were boring and full of paperwork, then as far as Harry was concerned, Tuesdays were even worse. Whatever paperwork didn’t get finished over the weekend was always added to the stacks Robards liked to give him after their weekly Monday morning meetings. Sometimes he had to look at the name plaque on his desk that read Auror to make sure he was actually working for the DMLE, and not in fact working as a clerk. He had known when he’d taken the promotion in September that he would be required to take on a more supervisory role, but he hadn’t counted on feeling like he was back at school, spending a lot more time correcting and signing off on reports from his trainees, and spending an inordinate amount of time reviewing procedures. **  
**

Just as he is signing his name to the bottom of a yet another report outlining the safety procedures and protocols for the Department, someone knocks on his door, barging in before waiting for a response.

“Potter, we need you in the field today.” Robards looks serious. Harry feels a thrill of excitement run through him; he hasn’t been assigned active field duty in a few months unless the ridiculous cases he’d handled for Auror Martins the previous week counted.

“Of course, sir.”

“Right, I don’t need to tell you this is of critical importance. We’ve got reports coming in about a possible wizarding hostage situation. It’s near Gringotts bank, at that Apothecary with the one-eyed witch. Apparently, she refused to sell someone her last vial of phoenix tears and, well, things went bad. No one has gotten close enough to verify the reports, but I’m being told that while there are several people involved, there is a clear leader. You’re the only one I trust to get this job done, and done right. We’ve already got a team dispatched, but I need someone I can trust to follow the lead. Do you understand what I’m saying, Potter? We need the situation contained, but I also want this man caught. ”

Harry’s mind has already slipped into action, mentally charting the area and cataloging possible escape routes before Robards is clapping him on the back and wishing him luck. Harry knows he doesn’t need luck - he needs skill.

Forty-five minutes later, when he’s being pelted with illegal spells from all four sides as he crouches behind a brick wall, he thinks perhaps he did need a bit of luck, and a whole lot more back up.

“Martins! Cover the fucking entrance!” he yells, his head pounding from a stray bit of roof that had flown off and hit him not long after the scuffle had begun.

“Sir? Applewoods and McKelly just sent word by Patronus. They’ve got the hostages freed, so it's just these four left.”

Harry nods, pressing the heel of his palm into his forehead hoping it might suspend the throbbing. “Right, you take the one to the left, he’s only casting basic spells now that don’t require much energy, I’m pretty sure he’s injured. Harley, you take the one behind us, and Jefferies, you take the one to the left. I’ll cover the leader. Spell to disarm first, incapacitate by force only when there is no other option. Do you three understand?”

A chorus of “Yes, sirs!” is heard before they each disapparate at precisely the same time with resounding pops. Harry holds his wand up, body alert as he waits for the right moment, listening for the sounds of disarming charms being cast around him. It feels like more than just a few minutes, but once Harry is sure his team is safe and the other perpetrators are handled, he takes off after his own suspect, disapparating then re-apparating directly behind him.

He casts an Expelliarius at the rogue wizard from behind, momentarily surprised at how easy it is to disarm him, when he hears a deafening blow that sounds eerily like an explosion; feels the energy around them literally radiating seconds before he feels something long and hard rip through his thigh, a horrible crunching noise letting him know it’s probably shattered some bones. He looks down long enough to see a long piece of metal sticking out of his leg, before he passes out from the pain, only dimly aware of someone screaming his name before the world goes black.

Harry has no idea how much time has passed, just knows his head is absolutely killing him as he blinks his eyes open, squinting them tightly shut again straight away. It is far too bright, which means he’s in St. Mungos; something about their horribly fluorescent lighting and stark white walls always feels too assaulting to Harry’s senses.

He tries to relax, tries to remember exactly what happened, but everything feels a bit hazy. His pillow is too hard, and he really just wants to fall back to sleep. It takes him a few minutes before he realizes someone is shouting, someone who sounds very agitated.

“What the bloody hell do you mean you don’t know when he will wake up? He’s Harry fucking Potter, and you have your top healers monitoring him, and you mean to tell me you still know nothing? Oh my word, this is too fucking much. I don’t know why I sent in such a large donation last Christmas as you are all such absolute plonkers. It’s a miracle you know which hand to hold your wand in!”

He forces his eyes open and can see Draco and a healer he doesn’t recognize talking by the door. The healer seems to be talking in a fairly quiet and calm manner; something that is clearly having zero effect on Draco’s mood.

“I demand you bring someone more competent in on this immed-”

“Be nice, you’re scaring him,” Harry chastises, surprised at how gravely the words sound when they come out.

Draco’s head snaps around so fast Harry wishes he were in the mood to tease because he’s pretty sure Draco could’ve passed for an owl. As it is, the most he can manage is lifting his hand to reach for him, and Draco complies with the silent request immediately, abandoning his argument with the healer and striding across the room in half a second flat to link their fingers.

“You absolute fucking tosser. Don’t you dare do that ever again.” There is a tightness in his voice Harry has rarely ever heard.

Now that Draco is touching him Harry lets his eyes flutter shut again, feeling inexplicably tired.  “What time is it?”

“It’s half past one. You were out for two hours, which is only marginally better than when you were in here last time. Fucking fieldwork.”

“Did we get him?”

“Of course that’s what you ask. Over an hour being healed, having your bones repaired and skin being magically fused back together and that’s what you want to know. You are unbelievable, you pillock.”

Harry smiles, recognizing Draco’s increase in insults as an attempt to hide his concern. He learned the hard way last time he’d landed in St. Mungos that Draco did not handle worry well at all, and tended to take it out on the person he was worried about.

“Oh my god, do you have a concussion?” Draco demands. “The healer said it was only your leg that was injured, not your brain. Why the fuck are you smiling? There is nothing to smile about in this situation, you git!”

“Draco, calm down.”

“Calm down? CALM DOWN?” he screeches, sounding anything but calm.

“What happened? I just remember... actually I just remember disarming the other guy and then pain.”

Draco makes a choked noise and Harry doesn't need to open his eyes to know Draco’s face is probably pinched tight with worry. “Yes, well the other Aurors are still working out the how, which I am apparently not privy to know yet, and you better believe I gave Robards an earful about that.” Harry smiles, imaging it. He’s pretty sure Draco is the only one who would dare to scream at Robards over anything. “All I know for sure is that I was sent an emergency owl and when I got here the healers were removing a large piece of steel rebar out of your thigh. It was absolutely disgusting, shattered bone and blood everywhere. You made a hideous mess of the hospital.”

Draco is holding Harry’s hand so tight he thinks he might break his fingers.

“Least it didn’t go through my cock,” Harry tries to joke, the effect slightly dampened by the weariness in his voice.

Draco barks out a laugh at that, his fingers releasing their hold enough that Harry gets a small bit of blood flow back in the tips. “You always did have rather questionable priorities.”

Harry just hums his agreement, pretty sure he's still out of it from the pain potions he must be on, allowing himself to rest as Draco talks about his day, filling the silence with the comfort of their routines.

It takes a good hour before Harry feels back to himself, and another hour after that before he's pestering every healer that walks through the door to sign his dismissal papers. It's another three hours before the staff is practically begging Draco to take him home lest one more of them have to deal with Harry again.

Forty minutes later once the discharge papers have been signed and Harry has been properly reminded to be more careful next time, Draco is holding onto his arm and side-along apparating them home.

“I swear you are the most difficult patient I have ever seen. I'm surprised you weren't kicked out sooner,” Draco scolds, shaking his head when Harry tries to plop down into the couch as soon as they’re home, leading him to the bedroom instead.

“I wasn't kicked out. I was released. Besides which, I'm not tired! I slept plenty at St. Mungos so you can't make me sleep. You can’t make me do anything,” he grumbles petulantly, feeling fairly grumpy after being poked and prodded for so long.

“That is the truest thing you have ever said. I don't think anyone could make you do anything. You're too fucking stubborn. Besides which were not going to sleep, you're going to open your advent.”

“My -- oh. I thought… The healer said no strenuous activity for twenty-four hours.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “Just open it.”

Harry does, easily finding the correct door and opening it to find a small vial of something white and sort of glittery. “Is this for another massage?”

“No.”

“What is it then?”

“This is for a bath.”

“A bath.”

“Yes, I know it’s a foreign concept for you to practice proper hygiene but-”

“Oi, you arsehole there’s nothing wrong with my hygiene. I didn’t hear any complaints recently when you had your tongue shoved up my arse.”

Draco laughs at that, taking Harry’s hand and leading him towards the washroom. Despite his protests that he is perfectly fine to stand, Draco transfigures a spare bath towel into a wonky little chair, forcing Harry to sit as he begins to cast a few spells, temporarily enlarging the small tub. Then he turns on the faucet, filling the tub with warm water before taking the small vial from Harry’s hands and pouring it into the tub. Immediately the room is filled with the scent of something that smells strikingly familiar to the way it smells after the first snow, and the bathtub begins to fill with tiny iridescent bubbles.

Harry is just about to ask if they can get in yet when Draco casts a few other spells Harry has never heard.

“What are those for?” he questions, curiosity getting the best of him.

“It’s a PH balancing spell.That, and a few mild calming and healing spells I read up on while you were unconscious.”

Harry doesn’t want to explain the rush of emotions that comment unearths inside of him, still a bit uncomfortable but mostly overwhelmed at being taken care of. Draco seems to understand, and though he’s sure from the look on the other man’s face he knows, he doesn’t mention it.

They undress silently, Draco taking Harry’s hand and leading him to the bath. Harry is tempted to remind Draco that his leg is perfectly fine now, that he doesn’t need to be coddled but he resists the temptation, recognizing Draco’s need to do something, to combat the sense of helplessness he clearly felt when Harry was hurt.

It’s a bit uncomfortable at first; even with the temporary expansion, they’re both grown men and trying to figure out how to situate two adults in one bathtub is certainly not easy. But then Draco pulls Harry against his chest holding him as tightly as possible whispering, “Stop bloody moving.” So Harry does just that. He resists his every instinct to say that he is fine, that he doesn’t need help and just relaxes against Draco’s body. And once he does, he finds that they do actually fit quite well, and he drops his head back to rest on Draco’s shoulders, closing his eyes and humming in pleasure as the smell of fresh snow and warm water envelop his senses while Draco’s body surrounds him.

“You’re such an idiot you know that,” Draco grumbles, his left arm wrapped around Harry’s body as his right strokes repeatedly over Harry’s healed injury.

“Mmm. I’m your idiot though.”

He feels Draco's lips curl up into a smile against his ear. “Don’t you forget it.”

Harry opens his mouth, meaning to reply that he isn’t likely to ever forget it, but all that comes out is a groan of delight as Draco’s hands begin to lather up his body, taking particular care to wash every inch of skin he can reach without having to actually move either of them. Despite every other thing they’ve done together in the past - which has indeed included quite a lot of shower sex - they’ve never done this before. Any time they’ve showered together has been because they were exceptionally late or too eager to wait. But this, this feels unhurried and intimate in a way that makes Harry shudder. Draco’s hands are soothing as they slide over his abdomen, soft kisses being pressed to the side of his neck as Draco’s fingers dig into his hips, more rubbing than washing, but Harry isn’t complaining.

He knows it's not meant to be erotic - Draco is simply washing his body - but the second Draco’s hands work into his hair, those long fingers massaging at his head as his fingernails scrape along his scalp Harry can’t help it, can’t stop the sounds he begins to make or the fact that he feels his cock hardening rapidly. He cannot recall in all his life someone washing his hair with such tenderness. His Aunt had done it almost brutally as if his hair’s mere existence was an offense to her sensibilities. It had stung and pinched, had hurt. But this, this feels reverent, and Harry has to squeeze his eyes shut to stop his sudden overwhelming urge to cry, something he doesn't think he's done in years.

Draco is so careful; lathering up every stray hair before placing his hand on Harry’s forehead, tipping it back, and tilting his head as he lifts a small cup with his other hand, pouring water over Harry’s soapy hair in a steady stream until it’s completely clean.

Harry feels a surge of confusion at the sheer magnitude of his arousal, not sure it's entirely normal to be so turned on by someone washing your hair. He's only grateful the bubbles make it less obvious as he scrambles to think of a reasonable explanation for it. But then Draco knocks over the bar of soap, his hand darting out to grab it, and he brushes against the hard length of Harry’s cock bobbing just beneath the surface of the water. Fuck.

“Harry,” Draco whispers, a note of surprise in his voice, but Harry squeezes his eyes shut tighter, shaking head slowly from side to side. “Oh, Harry.” And his voice is so uncharacteristically full of tenderness. It is something Harry has felt in his touches, in his actions, but rarely in his words.

It wrecks him completely.

Harry wants to know how Draco knows, how he always seems to know. “Shhh, it's okay,” He murmurs to Harry. “Just relax. Just lay there, Harry. Let me take care of you.”

Harry wrestles with himself, with his shame and his memories and the overwhelming desire to follow his gut reaction and say no. Instead, he whispers, “Okay.”

“God, you're perfect, you know that?” Draco's voice holds so much adoration that, were it anyone else, it would make Harry cringe. With Draco, though, it feels a bit like it's unlocking something painful and wild he didn't know he was trying to keep hidden.

Draco’s left arm moves back to wrap around Harry’s body, holding him snugly in the V of his legs, chest to back as Draco begins to languidly stroke Harry’s cock. It's not desperate or intense. Harry wants to ask how and why, but he can’t. Instead, his mouth falls open as he turns his head to the side, his lips brushing up against Draco’s Adam’s apple as he whispers “Please.”

“Shhh, just close your eyes, yeah? Just… let me... Let me take care of you.”

This time, Harry doesn't even think of saying no. “Okay.”

Draco’s hands are confident and self-assured as they move along Harry’s body until his right-hand wraps around Harry’s cock touching him there for the first time since they got into the bath. He knows exactly what Harry likes, the way he likes to be touched, the firmness that makes him whimper, the pace that makes him feel close to the edge, but never enough to fall all the way over. It’s not frenzied or urgent, and though Harry can feel Draco’s cock pressing into his back now, feel’s his own body thrumming with arousal, it feels grounding instead of urgent. He doesn’t press back against Draco’s cock, doesn’t scream. Instead, his body goes lax and he huffs out a soft breath as he comes, and it is not the orgasm that is ripped from his body as he comes, but the shame and fear he felt, leaving nothing behind but a deep sense of rightness.

“What about you?” Harry murmurs once he can muster up the energy to speak.

“It can wait.”

Harry breathes again, the weight of everything just sort of drifting away as Draco lazily stokes circles on his stomach, and Harry smiles, deciding that maybe he had been wrong about baths.


	17. 17 December

“Absolutely not.”

“Yeah, but—”

“No.”

“Draco, I’m perfectly—”

“No.” Draco frowns, reaching out to poke Harry in the middle of his chest with his wand. “Harry James Potter, you are not going into work today. If you attempt to go, I will not hesitate to cast a full body bind on you and leave you in the middle of the kitchen floor until I get home from work.”

Harry opens his mouth to argue, but snaps it shut again, quite positive that Draco is not even remotely joking. “I feel fine,” he mumbles feebly. He pats his healed leg as it to say see, it works now, but Draco doesn’t look remotely impressed.

“Yes, well I am absolutely certain that we already established yesterday that you have questionable judgment and priorities, so, for the time being, I will have to shoulder the burden and take over in the decision-making department.”

“You do realize your decision-making skills are just as questionable as my own, don’t you?” Harry points out.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Just last month you tried to buy a parrot.”

“That was not a parrot. It was an Indian Ringneck Parakeet,” Draco sniffed defensively.

“It’s still just a bird. A very expensive bird. That you do not need. Because we already have an owl.”

Draco bristles. “I’ll have you know that bird was highly intelligent.”

Harry snorts, dropping into the chair at the kitchen table and snagging a piece of buttered toast off the plate in front of him. “You and I both know the only reason you wanted to buy that horrible bird was because it copied you every time you said ‘Potter’s an idiot’.”

Draco smiles at the memory. “I told you that bird was highly intelligent, and I still say it could’ve been trained to deliver my mail.”

“I didn’t like it.”

“That’s because it tried to bite your finger. It’s not my fault if it naturally recognized which one of us would’ve been the superior master.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Yes well, you love me, so what does that say about you?”

“That I have questionable judgment?” Harry asks with mock innocence, echoing Draco’s previous words back at him.

Draco ignores his statement, kissing the top of Harry’s head before reaching for the floo powder. “I mean it, Harry, don’t you dare try to go to work today. You’ll be sorry.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry grumbles, but he doesn’t think Draco hears him over the rush of the floo.

Harry makes it exactly five hours and forty-nine minutes before he is so bored he is nearly bouncing off the walls. He has completed all twelve reports he’d brought home despite Draco’s protests, wrapped every one of his gifts (all except for Draco’s, which he still hasn’t purchased) and placed it beneath the tree, washed and dried the dishes in the kitchen, and polished his broom.

Harry is quite certain he is going to die of boredom before Draco even gets home, until he realizes that Draco hadn’t specifically said not to leave, only not to go to work. And Harry has no intention of going there.

Half an hour later Harry is walking down the hallway to Draco’s office, a spiced chai latte in one hand and a lemon muffin inside the small white paper bag in his other hand. He’d stopped off at Draco’s favorite bakery around the corner before making his way inside, intent on surprising Draco.

What he isn't expecting to find is Draco sitting at his desk looking beyond frustrated, his elbows on his desk and his head in his hands. What really gets Harry’s attention though is Draco’s sleeves, which have been unbuttoned at the cuffs and rolled all the way up to his elbows, exposing long expanses of pale skin and the side of Draco’s Dark Mark.

Draco sighs, lifting his head off his hands and reaching for his wand, absentmindedly twirling it between his fingers as he reads something off his desk to himself, his lips silently mouthing along with the words. Harry can’t take his eyes off Draco’s mouth as he does so.

It isn’t long before Draco looks up, finally taking notice of Harry standing in his open doorway.

“I thought I told you not to go anywhere!” he chastises, but Harry can see the subtle way his posture relaxes and he knows his presence isn't in the least bit unwelcome.

“Actually, you said I couldn’t go to my work. This is not my work, it’s yours. Therefore I am fully in my rights to visit you.”

“Your vague interpretation of the rules to suit your needs never ceases to amaze me.”

Harry holds out the snack as a peace offering, knowing Draco won’t be able to resist. “I brought food.”

“What is it?”

“It’s an extra hot spiced chai latte with caramel and a Meyer lemon muffin,” he answers easily, having memorized Draco’s favorite order by heart by the time they’d gone on their third date, still unable to take his eyes off the muscles in Draco’s forearms flexing as he reaches for the tea and muffin.

“You’re incorrigible, but I suppose since you’re already here you might as well stay.”

Harry smiles, watching Draco remove the lid and inhale the steam before he takes a sip, the remaining tension in his shoulders slipping away. Draco looks up at him, casting him a small smile and Harry knows he is entirely forgiven.

Harry spends the remainder of the afternoon in Draco’s office, moving from his chair to his couch, sprawling across it as he reads Draco’s copy of Seeker Weekly and hums Christmas songs to himself. Draco spends a good chunk of that time reminding Harry that he should be home resting, at which point Harry takes great pleasure in reminding Draco that he already is resting.

Harry also takes more than a fair bit of gratification in the fact that although Draco lets him know more than once his presence is highly distracting, the tension Harry observed in him upon his arrival never does return, and Draco manages to get through his entire case file on illegal potions rings by a quarter past four. Which means that by the time they both floo home together at nearly five they’re both in exceptionally good moods. Something Harry is hoping to take full advantage of as he pulls Draco down the hallway.

Harry’s voice is light as they stumble into the bedroom together, Harry trying and failing to undo Draco’s robes with one hand. “I want you.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“You have a giant ego.”

“If ego is code word for cock then yes, yes I do.”

Harry laughs, reaching behind his back to grab at the neck of his jumper and yanking it off in one swift motion before removing his trousers and pants, but when he reaches out to help Draco do the same Draco stops his hands, nodding towards the advent with a rather smug smile.  Harry licks his lips, casting a long gaze at Draco as he begins to undress, before turning and walking towards the advent.

He opens the door in a flash, reaching in with two fingers and pulling out a pair of long Christmas candles, one a deep red and the other a rich green. They’re tall and about as thick as his thumb. They look like the kind that would go in the middle of the table during Christmas lunch. He twirls them in his hands, the smooth wax gliding across his palms as he turns to find Draco already spread out on the bed on his back, waiting.  

He knows what the candles are for of course, or suspects he does. They’d only tried this once a few months ago. Thinking about it is enough to bring the memory to the forefront and Harry feels a swirl of desire pooling inside of him at the memory of the hot wax on his skin, of the look of abandonment on Draco’s face.

“Do you remember when we did this, Harry? What it felt like?”

“Yes.” Harry nods, striding across the room and onto the bed, crawling across it until he is straddling Draco’s thighs, his arse on top of Draco’s half hard cock.

“Do you remember what you said afterward?”

“I said I wanted to do it to you next time.” Harry wonders why his voice sounds uneven.

“Then do it,” Draco challenges, looking at him almost hungrily, his wand held aloft as he whispers Incendio and the candle tip ignites. Draco plucks them from Harry’s hands, setting them on the nightstand and dragging Harry down for a kiss before they begin. Draco tastes like lemon and chai, and it makes Harry’s head swim, everything in this moment somehow new and familiar all at once.

“Are you ready?” Harry asks, reaching and hesitating for only a second before choosing the green candle.

Draco shifts on the bed, exhaling a deep breath before locking eyes with Harry. “I trust you.”

Harry swallows down his nervousness and tries to focus on how it had felt when Draco had done this to him, the way the anticipation had heightened his arousal, how the variance of wax placement made him feel unsure and more than a bit desperate; thinks of all the ways to make Draco feel as good as he always makes Harry feel.

Harry remembers watching every move Draco had made, the way he had been so aware of every shift of the other man’s body. He’d never mentioned it afterward, but he’d thought it might have been better if he hadn’t been able to see. So without another thought, he grabs Draco’s wand and quietly transfigures one of the pillows into a silk scarf.

“What are you -- oh.”

“Is this okay?” Harry wants to be sure. It doesn't matter that they’ve done it before, it's not something they’ve done often, so he needs to be sure.

“Fuck yes, it’s okay. More than okay.”

Harry sets the candle down again so that he can tie the scarf around Draco’s eyes. He gets up onto his knees before grabbing the candle again. Then, he holds his arm up high, carefully dripping a small stream of wax along Draco’s hipbone. Draco hisses in response and Harry is about to ask if he is okay when he notices Draco’s cock harden.

More than okay then.

That bolsters his self-confidence, and Harry moves around the bed, carefully dropping small bits of green wax on Draco’s thigh and his stomach and his shoulder. It doesn't take long to realize Draco clearly enjoys it when Harry holds the candle closer to his body like it's when the wax doesn’t have as long to cool before splashing across his sensitive skin. Harry isn't sure if Draco has a higher pain tolerance than him, or if he just enjoys the pain more, and he files it away as something to discuss later when Draco isn't splayed out before him wantonly.

Harry is pretty sure the green candle is going to leave Draco looking sort of like a living Christmas tree. Well, if that tree was fit as fuck with a rock hard cock, anyway. It's oddly alluring to see all his pale skin like this.

But even more alluring is the way Draco seems to submit, the way he lays there placidly despite the come leaking out of his cock and the tension in his hands as he grips the sheets. It's not just the wax, but being at Harry’s mercy that has Draco taught with arousal.

“Do you... do you want more?”

Harry isn't sure if Draco can handle it, wants more, or even if he will answer. He seems a bit out of it, his chest rising and falling quickly and his head turned to the side, unmoving as if holding something in. So Harry waits, afraid to touch Draco and break the moment. After what feels like an eternity but is probably only a few minutes Draco licks his lips and says, “Yes.”

Harry can’t explain it, doesn't think he’d want to try even if he could, but something about watching the red wax fall onto Draco’s pale skin as it mixes with the green, hardening against Draco’s flesh as his muscles quiver at the sensation, makes Harry feel alive. He knows the red and green are supposed to be for Christmas but all he can think of is Gryffindor and Slytherin, of how different they once were, of how different they still are really, but of how perfect they are together anyway.

When they did this last time, Draco had been nearly frantic by the time he’d pressed inside of Harry, clutching at him possessively. Harry hadn’t understood then what Draco must have felt, but he thinks he does now. He watches the wax drip across Draco’s skin, a flush of red beneath the wax as the colors bleed together; it's intoxicating.

By the time the second candle is gone Harry’s broken out in a sheen of sweat, his entire body thrumming with desire. Draco looks wrecked beneath him, his hair sticking up at strange angles from beneath the blindfold, his body covered in red and green stripes, his cock angled up almost angrily, red and weeping.

Harry doesn’t know what he looks like, but as he slowly removes the blindfold, watching Draco inhale a shaky breath and blink a few times, he thinks it must be just as intoxicating to Draco, because he pounces on him without warning, flipping them over and grinding himself down into Harry, showering him in flecks of green and red wax with every undulation of his hips.

“Fuck,” Harry groans, scrambling to grab onto Draco’s forearm, the wax there cracking beneath his fingers and cascading onto the bed like a shower of Christmas sex.

Draco is never lost for words, especially not during sex. His thoughts and desires spill from his lips, filthy and uninhibited, but for once he looks as unable to gather his words as Harry usually is at times like these; overcome and consumed. They are matched in this moment, no words needed to convey this overwhelming need to possess and give in equal measure.

Harry lifts his legs to wrap around Draco’s waist as they frot against each other, a tangle of hands grabbing and lips sucking and cocks rubbing.

Draco throws his head back, exposing the line of his neck and Harry can't resist leaning forward and sucking hard. Draco lets out a litany of curse words as his motions become jerky. Harry digs his heels into Draco’s arse, rubbing against him aggressively, desperately.

Harry comes first collapsing onto the bed with a groan and watching as his come streaks across Draco's chest flecked with red and green. Draco stops to watch Harry, making sure Harry’s eyes are on him as he coats his hand in Harry's come and wraps it around his own cock.

Harry knows if he hadn't just come he would have now, because even with his cock entirely spent and slightly chaffed it still gives a half-hearted twitch of appreciation at the sight of Draco; dirty and completely wrecked leaning over him as he fists himself to completion. He coats Harry’s thighs in his come as he makes a needy sound that fills Harry’s heart with as desperation as he feels in his cock.

Draco collapses on top of Harry with a contented sigh, dropping his face into the crook of Harry’s neck and placing sloppy open-mouthed kisses to his collarbone as he struggles to catch his breath.

“I think,” Harry says, running his hands over Draco’s shoulders, fascinated with the way the wax sort of crumbles off, “We need a shower.”

“Sleep,” Draco grumbles. Harry can count on one hand the number of times Draco has picked sleep over a shower. So he reaches out until his fingers close around his wand, casting a fairly strong cleaning charm, the best he can manage for now, and holding Draco as the other man’s body turns to dead weight.

“Good night, Draco,” he whispers, holding him close as he too drifts to sleep.


	18. 18 December

“So, tonight's advent will be a bit different in light of you still being on the mend from almost dying-”

“I’m not a still injured, Draco, and I did not almost die” Harry huffed. “Besides, I didn’t hear you putting up any complaints last night with the wax and-”

Draco holds up a hand to silence him. “The whole point of last night was for you to do it to me. It was magnanimous of me really so that you could rest. It just got slightly out of hand.”

Harry grins, “Can we get out of hand again then?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Because you were almost mortally wounded.”

“I was not mortally wounded! I had a thing in my leg.”

Draco shoots him a look that would have anyone else quivering, but Harry is used to it and just shrugs his shoulders. “A thing. A thing in your leg. My god, Harry. You had a massive piece of steel which, actually I have no idea why the hell there was a massive piece of steel there, but that’s beside the point, the point is-”

“The point is you should kiss me more,” Harry laughs, grabbing the front of Draco’s shirt and pulling him down towards the bed and into Harry’s lap.

“That was most certainly not the point, you git.” However, Draco’s protests fall flat because he is close to smiling, sliding his hands into Harry’s hair and pressing his nose into Harry’s cheek, nuzzling his face. “The healers said-”

“Stop. The Healers said I’m fine.” He rubs his hands up and down Draco’s back. “I went today remember. I owled you the full report during lunch. I’ve been cleared to return to work tomorrow and everything is fine. I’m okay, Draco.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Draco, I know you don’t like it. I don't like it either, and I wish I could promise you I won’t ever get hurt on the job again, but I can’t. You know I can’t. But I can promise you I will do my best to stay safe, to not take unnecessary risks... to always come home to you.”

Draco makes a funny sound of disapproval as if he knows very well Harry won’t ever stop taking risks, then huffs out a shuddering breath as he rests his chin on Harry’s shoulder and sighs once more. “Fine.”

“So tell me more about today’s advent.”

“Why don’t you open it and see for yourself.”

“I don’t think I can move unless you move first - you’re awfully heavy.”

“Fine, fine. Demanding aren’t you?”

Harry can’t help but laugh, walking to the advent and opening the door. When he does, he sees that the inside has clearly been magically enlarged, more so than any of the other days. Reaching inside he pulls out two steaming cups of hot cocoa.

“Huh, well that’s not what I was expecting. What are we supposed to do with it?”

Draco just grins. “Drink it.”

“Is this like the Quality Streets where I’m supposed to do something while I eat it?”

“First off, you didn't do anything while you ate it, I did all the work, and secondly it’s for a game.”

“A game,” Harry repeats. “What kind of game?”

Draco shifts back, leaning on his hands, a look of amusement spreading across his face. “In my youth, I used to play a game with Pansy and Blaise when their mothers came over for tea. We were all very precocious children, you know, and-” This time it's Harry who snorts, thinking that something besides precocious would probably be a better way to describe them all. Draco sticks his tongue out at him which only serves to confirm Harry’s thoughts, before swatting him on the arm before continuing. “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, we used to play a bit of a game to occupy ourselves. It’s a sort of an unofficial Pureblood tradition, trying to think up the most inane questions you can to outsmart your friends and prove you knew more. Whoever couldn’t answer the question had to drink Veritaserum and then tell one of their secrets.”

Harry frowns, wondering where the hell they got their hands on Veritaseum as children and how on earth that would be fun. He’s jolted from his musings when Draco puts a hand on his shoulder, shaking him lightly and putting his face very close to Harry’s. He looks almost excited, his hair falling softly into his eyes and his posture relaxed. Harry finds it almost unsettling to realize he would do anything to make Draco happy. “It’ll be fun, trust me.”

Those words are enough and Harry gives a slight nod, lifting his mug to take a drink, but Draco shakes his head and covers the top of it with his hand. “You don’t drink unless you lose.”

“Why... what’s in it? It’s not actually Veritaserum is it?”

“Course not, it’s - well you’ll see. Alright, so first question is… What was Wilfred Elphick famous for?”

“I’m sorry, wait - what? Who?”

“Right, so you lose! Drink up!” Draco looked ridiculously pleased with himself already. The only thing Draco liked more than fucking was being able to one-up someone with his intelligence. It made for rather interesting get togethers with Ron and Hermione, and usually ended with he and Ron nursing their drinks in a separate booth unable to take what always end up as a bit of a pissing contest as Draco and Hermione tried to outdo each other with facts no one else cared about except perhaps them.

“That’s not even.. how the hell would I know who that is?” Harry grumbles, lifting up his mug when Draco shoots him a rather pointed look and taking a large gulp. He immediately wishes he hadn’t because it becomes clear that the mug is made up of more firewhiskey than hot cocoa. He coughs hard, earning himself a pat on the back from Draco who doesn’t look the least bit sorry. “So who the hell is Wilfred Elphick?”

“Oh, he was on a Chocolate Frog card. He was the first Wizard to be gored by an African Erumpent.”

Harry has no idea what to say to that so he wisely says nothing.

“Right so second question is-”

“Hey, wait don’t I get a turn? If you ask all the questions I’ll be the only one drinking!”

Draco gives him a searching look before shrugging. “Alright, give it your best shot.”

Harry wracks his brain for some useless knowledge he might have, wishing desperately he’d paid more attention to Hermione recently. In the end, the best he can come up with is, “What plant gives someone the ability to bre-”

Draco cuts him off shouting, “Gillyweed!” before Harry can even finish the question.

“That’s not fair!”

“Why not?”

Harry can’t actually find a good reason why not so he takes grudgingly another drink, much smaller this time, but it still goes straight to his head. He’s not sure how many more wrong answers he will be able to give before he's completely smashed.

After twenty minutes Harry begins to wonder where on earth Draco gets some of this inane knowledge, and whether it's always floating around in his brain or he picked it up just for this game. He’d always sort of zoned out when Hermione and Draco went on tangents, and had never truly appreciated the strange and sizeable mass of information Draco seems to have inside his head. It’s no wonder he’s so good at his job.

After another ten minutes, Harry is more than a little pleased to have been able to stump Draco at least twice, though he somehow still ends up taking four more drinks of his own cocoa. Half an hour later Harry is definitely drunk. He feels floaty and a bit fuzzy, and he can't stop putting his cup down to touch Draco, who keeps chastising him for interrupting the game, but who also keeps ending up with his hands under Harry’s jumper, his impossibly warm fingers sliding underneath the waistband of his pants before he pulls back shouting “We mustn't abandon the game!”

Harry is so intent on trying to beat Draco that he doesn't even think before saying, “When did I know I was in love with you?”

Draco looks surprised, or at least Harry thinks he does; it's hard to be sure when he can't take his eyes off Draco’s elegant fingers wrapped around his mug. He half expects Draco to tell him it's not a fair question but to his surprise, Draco lifts his mug to his lips. He doesn't take a small sip, but instead gulps down all of it in one go before whispering, “When?”

Harry swallows, the air around them feeling suddenly ripe with something, though what he isn't sure. Harry's throat feels dry and parched, but when he lifts his hot cocoa for another drink he’s surprised to find it empty and he wonders when that happened. Everything feels dulled and heightened all at once, which shouldn’t be possible but somehow is, and then suddenly Draco is right there, his hands on Harry’s jumper tugging it off roughly and knocking his glasses to the floor. He shoves him down on the bed, crawling on top of him and pinning Harry’s arms down to the bed.

“Since when?” he repeats, voice breathy.

Harry has to close his eyes to concentrate, to think clearly because Draco is above him looking flushed and relaxed, looking uninhibited in a way Harry knows only he gets to see. He wonders how much he really wants to say, but thinks fuck it.  “It was the 12th of May... I think it was, um- god, I think it was six in the morning.”

“You know the exact date and time?” Draco breathes out, looking so surprised that it makes Harry feel torn between wanting to cuddle him forever or fuck him forever. He’s not entirely sure.

“Yeah, it was.. .well, we’d been dating for a few months. That was the first night you let me stay over at your flat and I woke up because- actually I don’t know why I woke up so bloody early. I just know you were still asleep and you were lying there with your mouth sorta open, and there were pillow lines on your face and your hair was an absolute disaster... Then you sort of rolled over, looking for me in your sleep and your pajamas rolled up, and god, you were so warm and you smelled fucking amazing like sex and I just, Merlin, Draco I looked at you and knew I wanted to wake up next to you for the rest of my life.”

Harry waits until he’s done talking to finally open his eyes again, glad he’s drunk enough that he doesn't feel quite so raw about his revelation. But when Draco doesn’t speak, just stares at him with an unreadable expression, Harry feels something hot and tight pool in his stomach, until Draco is leaning down and kissing him with such force Harry thinks he might literally stop breathing.

“Fucking... fuck, just... fuck I should’ve know. Even drunk, you just lay it all out there, all the fucking time. You can’t help it can you? Your emotions just leak out of you all the bloody time.”

Harry isn’t sure if that’s a good thing, but then Draco is nearly ripping his clothes off, shedding his own just as quickly and pressing himself down on top of Harry as if trying to cover every inch of Harry’s body with his own. “Fuck, I love you so fucking much.”

And oh god, Harry wants to say it back, but his brain is a mess of want and desire. He has the hazy realization that Draco is rolling him onto his side, pressing inside of him, and he doesn’t even know when Draco casts a lubrication charm; he just feels the slow, almost painful bur of being penetrated, and he groans, grabbing the pillow in front of him and leaning into it as Draco thrusts into him, so slow and deep. And fuck it all, it's a bit like cuddling and fucking as Draco sort of spoons him from behind, his left arm stroking up and down Harry’s chest as he thrusts into him. Harry wants to tell Draco he’s a fucking genius, but all that comes out is a garbled sort of moan as he shoves his face into the pillow.

It feels so good, slow in a way that they rarely are. Draco’s hands are languid, stroking up and down his body before his hand stops on Harry’s hip, always at his hip, gripping the tattoo and continuing his steady, unhurried thrusts.

Harry begins to move his body with Draco's, both of them shifting back and forth as the sheets become tangled beneath their writhing bodies. There is no sense of urgency, but an intense sense of need still prevails. It feels like they stay that way for ages, Draco’s face buried in Harry’s hair until finally, Draco is whispering, “Come for me, come for me, Harry.”

And Harry does. He feels his arse clenching around Draco as he comes across the sheets, Draco wrapping his arm around Harry’s body and pulling him back forcefully one last time before he falls over the edge, his breathing heavy and warm against Harry’s neck.

They lay that way for several minutes before Harry starts to snicker.

“What’s so funny?” Draco inquires, his fingers lazily stroking the thick trail of hair just beneath Harry’s belly button.

“I was just thinking, I liked your game. That was a good idea”

“Of course you do. Everything I think of is a good idea.”

“I think you won.”

“Oh I don’t know, I think maybe it was a tie,” Draco mumbles in between kisses to the back of Harry’s neck.

_ Yeah _ , Harry thinks.  _ Maybe it was a tie, because maybe it wasn’t about the questions after all. _


	19. 19 December

**  
**Yesterday, Harry had been positive there was nothing he wanted more than to return to work and get back to his routines. He hates feeling useless, which is how he always feels after an injury. He needs to get back into things, even if it means sitting at his desk doing reports or handling some of the more boring cases from the junior Aurors when they indulge in too mulled cider this time of the year. But walking down the hallway that morning, watching the rest of the Department laughing about the enchanted mistletoe strung around the office, Harry is wondering if it might not have been better to return next week instead. He’d completely forgotten that was going to happen today. **  
**

Harry isn’t entirely sure when it had started, or even how, he just knows that by the time he had finished his training it was already a full-fledged tradition within the Auror department to hide the enchanted mistletoe around the office in December, always on the last Friday before Christmas. George always happily supplies the office with the enchanted mistletoe, though it had not taken Harry long to realize that it was definitely not the same stuff they sold at the joke shop during the holidays. That stuff is enchanted to keep two people together until they kissed, but even the smallest peck on the cheek is enough to break the spell, which makes sense since their target clientele is still Hogwarts students.

But this mistletoe, this is something George always creates specifically for the Aurors, and it is not simple nor tame. Harry has tried asking George how he manages to enchant it, but he’ll never tell him, always just winking at Harry with a cheeky wouldn’t you like to know, Harry my boy. And doesn't that just get him, because he truly did want to know. Before Harry’d started seeing Draco, the mistletoe had been mildly annoying, though harmless enough, even if it always left Harry hugely embarrassed. The thing is, the mistletoe doesn't enchant people when they get stuck underneath it together; instead all it takes is one person walking underneath it, and then the mistletoe floats above their head all day until they kiss the person they most want. What makes it worse, however, is that George added some sort of spell to it that meant each successive person has to up the ante compared to the person before them. A person can’t kiss their intended in the same place as someone else has.  And really, for most of the others it isn't too bad, and usually only ends up in a few funny forehead or elbow kisses. But Harry, well Harry has been both shocked and horrified in the past to discover that quite a lot of people want kiss him. It’s in good fun really - no one ever really does anything to make anyone else uncomfortable - and it’s mostly just silly (except for the occasional one-sided infatuation or secret relationship that gets outed every December).

The thing is, Harry, expected people to stop wanting to kiss him once he was with Draco, but the year they started dating, the number of people following him around or waiting outside his office was higher than any year before. Even two years later he can’t shake the image of stuffy, by-the-book Mark Pritchards shrugging at him before mumbling that he was somehow even more desirable with Malfoy, before looking embarrassed as he kissed Harry’s knuckles and ran away.

And so this year, well this year will be the first time for this ridiculous tradition since he moved in with Draco, and Harry isn't really sure what to expect. He spends the entire morning looking over his shoulder, even when he goes to the break room for another cuppa, and he peeks out his door nervously before heading to his meeting with the junior Aurors before lunch. He keeps waiting and waiting for someone to try and kiss him, but it never comes. He’s relieved at first, at least until his lunch break, when he witnesses many of the others laughing and awkwardly and chasing after each other, trying to come up with the most ridiculous place to kiss the person they think might break the spell. He isn’t jealous; he’s just confused.

At least, he is, until he sees Peterson walking his way with a sprig of mistletoe bobbing above his head. Harry groans inwardly, not prepared in the least for the awkwardness that is about to ensue. Except, Peterson doesn’t try to kiss him. He doesn’t even acknowledge Harry. In fact, all day everyone who has mistletoe above their head goes out of their way to ignore him, which truthfully starts to make him feel a bit paranoid. He spends the entire day waiting for something to happen, and when it doesn't he ends up flooing home in a weird state of bewilderment that leaves him feeling sort agitated.

“You’re home early,” Draco comments, not looking up from his book.

“Do I have bad breath?”

That gets Draco’s attention, and the side of his mouth quirks up. “I’m sorry, what?”

Now that Draco is looking right at him Harry feels particularly daft about the entire thing, but he knows he doesn’t stand a chance of getting Draco to drop it now. “I just... no one wanted to kiss me this year. Do I have bad breath? Does my hair look bad? Do I have cooties?”

Draco looks like he is trying very hard not to laugh, which doesn’t help Harry’s annoyance, even though he’s not sure who exactly he is annoyed at.

“Harry, are you in strop because no one followed you around like a puppy, worshiping the ground you walk on and trying to kiss you all day? Something which I might remind you, you complained about for a week last year.”

When Draco says it like that it sounds even more ridiculous. “No... of course not,” Harry lies. “That would be stupid.”

Draco closes his book, setting it off to the side and standing up from the couch to move elegantly across the room, standing in front of Harry. “Are you quite sure? Because it definitely sounds like you got your panties in a bunch.”

Harry grumbles, reaching out and fisting his hands in the soft cashmere of Draco’s sweater. “M’not wearing panties.”

Draco just hums, leaning forward to suck on Harry’s bottom lip. “Not today you’re not,” he whispers before sucking Harry’s tongue into his mouth.

And then Harry forgets what he was thinking about completely as Draco leads him back over towards the couch, pulling him down so that Harry is settled into the V of his legs. “Someone possibly may have owled George this year to make sure he knew in no uncertain terms that if he didn't find a way to exclude you from the fucking mistletoe, he’d rue the day he was ever born. No one else is going to touch you, Harry. You’re mine.” Harry swallows down his retort, stuttering out a moan instead as Draco begins to suck on his neck. “Want your advent?” he asks Harry.

Harry just shakes his head trying to angle his hips to rub them against Draco’s thigh. “Don’t care, just want you.”

Draco pulls back long enough to reach his wand off the coffee table and whisper a summoning spell. A moment later something comes whooshing down the hallway and into Draco’s outstretched hand.

“Mistletoe. Oh, Merlin.”

Draco grins, tossing it into the air and winking when it floats above his head. “I acquired my own bit of this stuff from George. I had him teach me out to do the charms.”

“Oi, how the hell did you manage that? I’ve been asking him for years!”

“I can be very persuasive when I want to be.”

Harry grins, rolling his hips against Draco. “Mmm, I do hope you didn’t try to persuade him the way you usually persuade me.”

The look Draco shoots him is devoid of any teasing, his tone utterly sincere, as he reaches out to tug Harry’s shirt off over his head. “Only you. By the way,” he whispers, as he scoots back to yank down Harry’s pants and trousers, “I forget to mention one thing, I added a little something extra to this.”

“Oh yeah, and what’s that?” Harry asks, licking his lips and pushing himself up onto his elbows, scooting back to get into a better position to undress Draco.

“It won’t disappear until we get off.”

Harry grins. “That’s not gonna be hard.”

“Until we get off with only our mouths... no touching, no hands, no penetration.”

“That’s... oh,” Harry breaths, dropping his hand from where it was about to wrap around Draco’s cock.

“What do you think? You up to the challenge?”

“Oh come off it, you prat. We both know anything you can do I can do better!”

Draco gets a look on his face that reminds Harry strongly of the way he used to look right before a Quidditch match; a type of confidence bordering on downright cockiness. There is no way Harry is going to be the one to come first.

“Fine, so how are we doing this? Can we use magic?”

“My, my... so eager to try and win.”

“I'm not gonna try. I'm going to make come you first, come so hard you don't remember your name.”

“I really don't thi-” But Harry cuts his words off by quite literally knocking Draco to the ground with his entire body, grinning despite the fall as they land atop the fur rug in front of the fireplace. He lands completely on top of Draco, who simply grunts, shooting Harry a rather dirty look. “That wasn't what I had in mind.”

“Yeah, and what did you have in mind?” Harry questions, sucking on the small furrow of skin below Draco’s ear.

“Something... god, more like - nnghhh, more like- fuck, stop that for a minute and just turn, yeah turn your body like that and lift your hips a bit. Perfect... now spread your legs a bit wider… fuck that's a good view. Yes, just like that, Harry. Gods yes.”

Harry is glad Draco can’t see his face from this position because he feels incredibly exposed like this, straddling Draco’s face with his mouth above Draco’s cock. Draco’s cock is pointing right at him, glistening with pre-come and flushed dark red, and he can feel Draco’s hot breath ghosting across his arse. It makes him squirm with desire.

It becomes clear to Harry pretty rapidly what Draco’s idea is, which he thinks is both horrible and brilliant. Brilliant because it means Harry is definitely going to get rimmed right now and there are few things Harry loves more than that, but it incidentally it also means that if one of them is going to come from only a mouth then it’s more likely to be him, at least in this position.

If Draco thinks Harry is going to turn to mush in his hands, though, he has another thing coming. Or at least, that’s what Harry tells himself until he feels Draco’s hair brushing across the crease of his arse, Draco’s warm nose nudging his cheeks apart, and fuck it all if Draco isn’t practically inhaling him, and it should be weird or gross, but somehow makes Harry want to scream.

“Fucking cheater,” he groans out, leaning down to swallow Draco’s cock. He means it to be one of the best blowjobs he's ever given Draco, but it all goes to hell when Draco’s sinful tongue is licking a broad stripe across his hole before pressing in.

Harry tries to focus on sucking, on bobbing his head up and down and lavishing extra attention to the head of Draco’s cock because he knows those are things that he loves. But every time Draco’s tongue jabs inside of Harry's body, every time the muscles relax just a little bit more, Harry stops sucking to whine, unconsciously thrusting himself back against Draco’s face.

Usually Draco’s hands would be on his arse or his hips, holding him still, spreading him open, but without the use of his hands Draco seems to have taken a much more carnal approach, making sounds of his own as he pants against Harry’s arse, slurping and sucking and licking as if he’s never wanted to get his mouth on anything as desperately before.

Harry finally gives up trying to have any semblance of control, not caring in the least who comes first as long as they both fucking come, because his own cock is hard and neglected. He ruts against Draco as he continues to try and fuck Draco’s face with his arse, his own mouth lapping at Draco’s cock, sucking on it from the side and inhaling the heady scent of Draco’s arousal as he nuzzles his face into the soft, pale curls of hair above Draco’s cock.

Draco’s movements, if possible, become even more erratic, and while Harry is used to him being vocal in bed, he’s not used to him being loud, not like this. Draco is making sounds of pleasure that are going straight to Harry’s cock, raw and unrestricted. Both of them dissolve into gratuitous expressions of pleasure as the smells of sex fill the room.

Harry is so close his eyes begin to water with the force of trying to hold it in, and then Draco pulls his tongue out and instead of pressing it back in again he starts to suck hard at the puckered, spit-soaked hole. Harry feels moisture at the corner of his eyes, his balls tightening and his stomach quivering as he comes between them with an incoherent “Fuck it, you win,” groaned around Draco’s cock. Draco doesn’t stop sucking either, even once Harry is done he just keeps slipping his tongue in over and over until Harry can feel the spit dripping down his arse, and it just spurs him on as he bobs his head, giving it one final, hard suck as he feels Draco’s come fill his mouth.

With an undignified whine, Harry rolls off of Draco, collapsing beside him on his back. “Fuck.”

He lifts his head just enough to look over at Draco who has his arm thrown over his face. He looks a mess, his face shining with saliva and his lips pink and swollen. Harry has the intense need to roll over and kiss him, so he does, sliding his hands into Draco’s hair and relishing in the feeling of Draco beneath his fingers.

“Mmm, don’t think you can distract me. I won,” Draco whispers, his own hands now stroking along the base of Harry’s spine.

“I wouldn't dream of it. But you know in any good game the loser gets a second chance. So, what do you say, best two out of three?” he suggests, waggling his eyebrows in an exaggerated manner as he moves to stand up, holding his hand out to Draco.

Draco eyes him for all of two seconds before grasping Harry’s hand. “Oh, you’re  _so_ on, Potter.”


	20. 20 December

“Harry... Harry, are you listening to me?” Draco snaps, waving his hand out in front of Harry’s face. **  
**

“I...oh, sorry.”

Draco’s annoyance slips away, replaced with a look of concern. “Are you alright? You’ve been distracted all morning.”

“What, no... I mean I’m fine. Really. Sorry, just thinking.” He pointedly does not mention that he is thinking about the fact that there are only a few days left until Christmas and he still isn’t sure what he wants to get Draco.

Draco seems to take him at face value, relishing his last drink of tea before speaking again.

“Right, well as I was saying before. I have to go into the office today. I have no idea how they managed it, but my entire team seems to have misplaced their depositions for the case we’re presenting next month, and this puts us at least a week behind. I know we’d planned to spend the day together with Teddy, but-”

“It’s alright. I get it.” Harry feels a twinge of disappointment rising in his stomach, especially at the idea of having to be the one to tell Teddy his favorite cousin won't be coming, but he squashes it down, knowing how important this case is to Draco. He plasters on a smile. “It’ll be fine, I’ve got a great day planned for him. He’s been begging to go to Muggle London for ages.”

“I swear he’s going to end up like Arthur Weasley with the way you two are always galavanting around Muggle neighborhoods together. Do you know, Andromada told me last week Teddy asked Father Christmas for a toolset. A tool set! She said he won't stop prattling on about learning how to build things because his godfather mentioned wanting to learn how to restore an old motorbike and now he’s got it his head that he needs a toolset like you’ve got out in the shed.”

“That’s brilliant.”

Draco appears to vehemently disagree. “He should be asking for a toy broom, or a Wolfricks First Potion Set, like a normal wizarding child. Instead, he’s asked for a child’s size Auror robe and a Muggle toolset.” Draco shoots Harry a rather pointed look. “I can’t imagine who he might be thinking about with a wishlist like that.”

Harry tries to look surprised but all he can manage is a wide smile. He has the Weasleys and Hermione, and of course Draco, and while he’s never wanted to make them feel like they weren’t enough, he can’t deny there is something deeply important, different even, about his relationship with Teddy. With Teddy, he feels important, feels needed, in a way he doesn’t think he ever has before. He’s never quite been able to put into words exactly what having Teddy as his godson means, but he suspects Draco knows anyway.

“So, when are you picking him up then?”

“I’m not, Andromeda is meeting us at the floo point in London, the one just outside of River Thames. Teddy wanted to go to a Christmas Market.”

“A six-year-old boy wants to go Christmas shopping?”

“Yeah well, he wants to get gifts for Andromeda and you, and he’s decided you both have everything a wizard could need already so he wants to go there. I was going to have to send you on a wild goose chase to get you to leave us alone once he found something he wanted. We even had a whole signal worked out. First, he was gonna whistle, then I was going to-”

Draco snorts, interrupting Harry. “Sometimes I can’t decide which one of you has more fun on these ridiculous adventures.”

“Don’t you want to know how it was going to go? We spent a whole hour figuring it out.”

“That’s alright, I think I can get the big picture without all the details.”

Harry winks, stealing the last half of Draco’s crumpet with jam. “It was a very good plan.”

“I’m sure it was superb.”

Draco smiles, looking particularly amused, before apologizing once more as he heads out through the floo. Harry spends the next few hours puttering around, listening to the news on the wireless for a bit before finally falling asleep for almost an hour on the sofa out of sheer boredom.

Which means that when he finally wakes up, he is left stumbling around the flat in a panic looking for his scarf and gloves before finally disapparating without either for fear of being late. A fear which turns out to be unfounded as its Andromeda and Teddy who end up being half an hour late, something which Harry wouldn’t have minded nearly so much if he wasn’t close to freezing his bits off.

“Harry! There you are,” Andromeda shouts, half running and clutching at Teddy’s hand tightly. “Teddy couldn’t find Mr. Plumpkin and well, you know we couldn’t leave without it.”

“Hey there, half pint. You find Mr. Plumpkin?” Harry asks as he drops down into a squat and opens his arms for a hug. Teddy flings himself into Harry, knocking him down into the snow-covered pavement with a laugh.

“I did! He was hiding under Gran’s bed!” he shouts, pulling the worn looking stuffed niffler from under his coat. It had been a gift from Harry when Teddy was three, though he hadn’t imagined the way Teddy would grow attached to it.

“Listen, Harry. I know you were only going to keep him for the day, but I was wondering if perhaps - well if it's not too much trouble - you and Draco might be able to keep him overnight. I’ve got so much to get ready for Christmas and well you know,” she gestures towards Teddy.

“You don’t even have you ask, you know we love having him,” Harry answers automatically, knowing full well what a handful Teddy could be.

“You’re a dear. Thank you, Harry,” she murmurs, kissing him on the cheek before reminding Teddy once to always listen to his godfather, then heading on her way.

“So where are we going? Gran said you were gonna take me shopping! Can we buy sweets please?”

“What did your Gran say about it?”

Teddy scrunches up his face, clutching Mr. Plumpkins tight as Harry hefts him onto his hip and starts walking. “Well, Grans not exactly here is she. She said while I’m with you, that you’re the boss. Doesn’t that mean whatever you say goes?”

Harry has to hold back his amusement, trying to imagine a sound argument against Teddy’s logic. He looks around at the streets full of people in cheerful groups, feels Tedy’s small arms wrapped around his neck and his little face so full of hope, and he can’t think of a single reason not to. So he concedes and leans in closely, “I suppose we’ll just have to buy some then, won’t we?” he whispers, even though there’s no one around to hear him.

‘Some sweets’ turns out to be a rather large amount of sweets, since Teddy can’t seem to decide whether he wants the handmade caramels or the spun sugar lollipops or the chocolates with bits of nuts in them. At that point Harry finds himself saying guess we ought to buy them all then.

They spend hours at the market, unable to miss a single stall. Harry’s heart does something funny watching Teddy stare in wonder at a stall of hand blow baubles, and giggle at the stall full of sparkling giant paper stars. His curiosity and enthusiasm remind Harry so much of the way he’d felt upon first stepping into Diagon Alley. So when Teddy asks for a hand carved wooden Christmas tree, well Harry figures Andromeda would probably love it. And when he asks to buy a delicate looking floating blue bauble, Harry says they can hang it on the Christmas tree. And when Teddy wants to buy all five flavors of homemade jam, well Harry says they might as well invite Ron and Hermione over for tea next week.

By the time they get back to the flat its nearly dinner time. Harry is laden down with an obscene amount of gifts and treats, fully prepared for a lecture from Draco and Andromeda on the dangers of spoiling Teddy, to which Harry always nods along accordingly but let's fly right in one ear and out the other.

“I knew it!” Draco shouts when Harry tries to shove the bags behind the teapot. “I knew you’d come home with half that bloody market.”

Teddy bounces between them, grinning infectiously as the tips of his hair turn red and green. “It was brill, Draco! There were all kinds of things to buy and we had hot cocoa and roasted chestnuts, and Harry took me to the ice rink and we both fell a lot, and Harry says that the Muggles lied because it is fucking not like flying and he kept falling on the ice and-”

“Language!” Draco interrupts, shooting Harry a dirty look. Teddy doesn't even acknowledge he’s heard him and instead continues on.

“And I couldn’t decide what sweets I wanted, so Harry said we could get them all and we ate a lot of them, but we saved you some yucky chocolates with coconut that Harry says you like. Oh, and Harry bought you-” But then Harry reaches out with seeker quick reflexes and covers Teddy’s mouth with his hand to stop him from spilling Harry's surprise.

“That's a secret, short stack.”

Teddy, who hates being interrupted about as much as Draco, frowns before licking Harry’s palm in retaliation. “Ugh, Teddy.”

“I heard Draco say once the only way to shut you up was with his tongue. You were right, Draco. It works!”

Draco has the decency to look embarrassed as he sets dinner on the table, pointedly ignoring Harry's attempts to catch his eye, and Teddy’s disgruntled protests that he did not like mushy peas.

“Can I have beans and toast instead?” Teddy gives Harry his most innocent smile.

“Well if you don't like-” But Draco cuts him off swiftly.

“No, Teddy, you'll eat your chicken and peas.”

“Harry, can we have beans and toast for breakfast, please?”

Draco looks up at that, raising an eyebrow at Harry. “Breakfast?”

Teddy looks between them both. “Yeah, I’m staying with you guys! Can we stay up late and watch the telly?”

Harry opens his mouth to say yes, but Draco beats him to it. “Your gran always wants you in bed by eight. You know that.”

Teddy looks affronted. “Last month when you went away for work me and Harry stayed up until ten watching the telly, and Harry let me have sweets after dinner. Oh, and we ate breakfast on the couch in front of the telly! Harry has the best ideas, Draco.”

Harry avoids making eye contact with Draco, reaching for his glass of wine and gulping it down. Though he refuses to look at him, he can hear the change in tone in Draco’s tone. “Sometimes, Harry forgets what the rules are. I’m sure someone will help remind him later. And as I said before, your bedtime is at eight o'clock sharp like always, Teddy.”

They spend the rest of dinner listening to Teddy prattle on about every single thing they did all day. His talking fest continues all through bath time and well through the seven bedtime stories he begs Harry to read him. By the time Teddy is finally asleep at nineteen minutes after eight, Harry is completely exhausted. He pushes the door to their bedroom open and flops down onto the bed face first.

“No wonder Andromeda needed a break. I’m not sure Teddy even knows what silence is.”

“Yes well, I’m not exactly sure you discourage him, considering you took him straight to Italy in July when he asked how Gelato was made. And when he wanted to know how wands were made, instead of just telling him, you arranged for him to spend a week with a wandmaker. And when he said he might want to be an Auror one day you asked Robards if he could authorize a child’s size robe with an actual ministry insignia on it and-”

Harry lifts his head up from the mattress, turning it to the side and resting it on his folded arms. “Alright, perhaps I spoil Teddy a tiny bit. But he’s a good kid. And he’s so smart.”

“Of course he is, he’s related to me,” Draco says with no tone of mirth, sitting down on the edge of the bed and running his hands through Harry’s hair. “You look tired.”

Harry’s eyes flutter shut and he nods his head softly, humming his agreement.

“Too tired for your advent?”

Harry’s eyes fly wide open, and he sits up abruptly, dislodging Draco’s hand as he shakes his head in disagreement. “Nope, not tired. Changed my mind.”

Draco doesn't need to say more, Harry knows that’s his permission to open the door.

What he finds inside is a single roll of spello-tape, the same half-finished roll Harry had used to wrap his Christmas gifts last week. “Are we... um, wrapping something?”

“Oh not exactly,” Draco replies smoothly, snatching the roll of tape from Harry’s hand and grinning rather wickedly. “Do you know the difference between spello-tape and Muggle tape, Harry?”

Harry wrinkles his head in confusion, not entirely sure where this is going. “Uh, spello tape works on magical objects, and, um…”

“And it works when magic is not appropriate for the situation. So you see, I have a problem. No, I should rephrase that. We have a problem. You can’t seem to say no, so I think for tonight you need to learn how not to talk. How to be silent. Do you want that, Harry? Can you be good for me? Can you keep very, very quiet?” Harry lets out a little whine as Draco’s finger drags down his cheek and Draco smirks. “I thought you might have trouble with this. That’s where the spello-tape comes in.”

“Fuck,” Harry groans, clenching his hands in the bed sheets.

“Oh, we’re gonna get there. But Teddy is right across the hall, and you know what a light sleeper he is. So you need to be quiet, Harry.” Draco starts to pull a piece of tape out, reaching out for Harry’s mouth. “Very, very quiet. You got that?” he asks, placing several pieces over Harry’s mouth.

Harry instinctively tries to suck in a deep breath without even thinking about the fact that he can't, but Draco’s hands are stroking his hair as he whispers “Just breathe through your nose, you can do this. Slow and steady. Don’t try to hold your breath either. I’d rather you didn’t pass out. Got it?” Harry nods and Draco begins to undress, never taking his eyes off of Harry. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you'll wish you could scream.”

Harry makes a very quiet noise in the back of his throat, and it isn’t until Draco grabs his wand and banishes Harry’s clothing for him that he realizes he wasn’t even undressing. Staying quiet should be easy; it's not as if Harry talks during sex. Hardly ever, anyway. Except that he definitely makes noises - a lot of noises.

Draco’s advice had been correct and Harry finds himself having to really focus on the slow, steady breathing through his nose now that he can’t use his mouth. Which means that as Draco’s lube slicked fingers slide into his body, he’s torn between focusing on that or not breathing, because it feels so good he doesn’t want to think about anything else, and breathing through his nose takes a strange amount of focus.

“Shh, breathe,” Draco urges, the words whispered against the inside of his trembling thigh.

And Harry tries, really he does, but he could not have imagined how hard it would be to breathe when you couldn’t use your mouth, or how much effort it would take to not make any noises.

Draco is impossibly quiet as well, much more than usual, and all it does is heighten Harry’s awareness of the sound of Draco’s finger’s slipping out of his arse. Then Draco is coating his cock in lube, sucking on his bottom lip, before pushing into Harry so slow Harry already wishes he could scream.

Draco keeps his eyes focused only on Harry as he grabs onto Harry’s knees, pushing them all the way down to his chest and using them as leverage to help him thrust in and out, somehow managing to make his strokes both torturously slow and deep.

Harry loses track of how long it goes on, his mind a mantra of ‘don’t stop breathing, don’t stop breathing’ as Draco’s hips pick up momentum, becoming almost unforgiving. And Harry doesn’t need Draco to talk to know he’s close, can tell from the change in his expression and the way his thrusting becomes noticeably harder. He wants to come, and as he wraps his fingers around Harry's cock he knows Draco wants him to come with him. They move like that, brutally fast and painfully silent, the only sounds in the room their skin slapping together until Draco is shuddering, his hips stilling and his hand speeding up.

Harry’s back arches up, his arse clenching around Draco’s cock and his chest heaving, and he feels like he might pass out because he can’t think and he definitely can’t breathe. But then Draco is ripping the spello-tape off and Harry takes a deep, shuddering breath, his hands flying out and nearly bruising Draco’s skin with their intensity.

“Shh, I know… shhh, me too. Just breathe, Harry. Just breathe,” Draco whispers, kissing Harry’s forehead over and over.

Harry doesn’t feel capable of speaking, and even if he did, he's not sure he could find the words to respond. Instead, he obeys, pulling Draco’s face towards his own and resting their foreheads together, his eyes shut as he listens to the sounds of their breathing fill the air.


	21. 21 December

When Harry wakes up the sun hasn’t even begun to peek through the curtains yet and there is still a chill in the air that makes him want to yank the blankets over his head and never get out of bed. It takes him a moment to even realize why he’s awake at such an offensive hour until he feels movement in the bed and realizes Teddy’s ice cold fingers are shoved into his neck. He blinks blearily, wondering at what point last night Teddy came into their room, grateful that at least they’d both managed to throw pajamas on before falling asleep. The temptation to let sleep claim him is strong, at least until he looks over and realizes that Draco has his arm thrown over Teddy protectively, his face relaxed in sleep as tiny puffs of air escape his lips. Harry’s chest aches with an overwhelming sense of love for both of them that nearly takes his breath away, and makes him feel the need to do something for them lest he suffocate from his own feelings. **  
**

Ten minutes later Harry is reluctantly putting his heavy winter coat over his Weasley jumper, wrapping Draco’s cashmere scarf around his neck and grabbing some floo powder as he heads out to get a few things. It takes him over an hour, and two international portkeys, but he returns to the flat just as the sun begins to rise, laden down with packages. With a quick check that both Draco and Teddy are still sound asleep, he meanders back into the kitchen, opening up the box of pastries and setting the kettle on to boil with a quick flick of his wand. Nearly forty-five minutes later he hears small feet pattering loudly down the hallway loudly followed by a grumbling Draco shouting for Teddy to walk not run.

“Harry!” Teddy shrieks, throwing himself into Harry’s open arms and grinning. “You made me beans and toast!”

Draco leans in the open doorway, appraising them both with an almost unreadable expression on his face. “It looks like Harry made everything.”

Harry shrugs, as if the table being covered in fresh croissants, several jars of home-made jam from the Christmas market, poached eggs with salmon, stacks of toast with hearty beans on the side, and a pot of tea is regular Sunday morning occurrence. Draco stands there just watching as Harry tries not to fidget under the weight of Draco’s stare, eventually piling Teddy’s plate full of far more food than his small stomach can handle just to have something to do with his hands.

When Draco finally sits down he reaches for the pot of tea first, seemingly inspecting it as he pours it into his favorite bone china teacup Harry put out for him. The one with the small narcissus hand painted on the handle. He inhales the aroma briefly before taking a slow sip and letting out a contented sigh of pleasure that makes Harry’s stomach squirm. “This is Keemun Black Tea. The local market has been out for weeks. Where did you get it?”

Harry busies himself with trying to rip his croissant in half, intent on covering it with as much strawberry jam as humanly possible. “Might have possibly called in a favor from Marge at the Department of International Trade Affairs. You know she's dating Billy from Potkey’s and Apparation? Anyway, she got him to arrange for a six o'clock emergency portkey to China.”

Harry shoves a mouthful of buttery croissant in his mouth, ignoring the incredulous look from Draco who seems to have just realized what Harry is eating. He reaches out picking one up, squeezing it slightly and making a tiny noise in the back of his throat.

“Harry, are these croissants from the Boulangerie I like? The one in Paris near Cour du Commerce-Saint-André where mother used to take me.”

Harry swallows down his food, unsure why Draco looks so emotional over a croissant. He briefly wonders if when went to the wrong place. “Well you said the English ones don’t taste the same as the ones you used to get in France with your mother. And, well, the thing is... the wizard who was doing my return portkey in China was apparently a bit of a fan and,” Harry pauses, embarrassed at the rest of his story.

“And?” Draco prompts, as Teddy looks back and forth between them both as if they’re something very interesting like one of his shows from the Telly.

“I might’ve offered to autograph his copy of Witch Weekly if he could get me a portkey to France, and a return one to England afterward. I think he almost wet himself with excitement, to be honest.”

Harry watches with a strange sense of curiosity as Draco clutches his teacup with such force he wonders if he might actually break it.

“Um, is it okay? Are they the right ones?” Harry asks.

Draco’s voice comes out a bit breathless. “Yes, Harry.”

“Do you want some jam? I got wild blueberry, just like the one you liked so much when we went to the Christmas Market in Regensburg last year.”

Draco finally sets his teacup down, looking at Harry in a way that makes him wish Teddy weren’t there in that moment, no matter how much he loves him. “Ca a l'air délicieux, mais si je dois prendre de la confiture, j'aimerais mieux l'étaler sur toi,” he says smoothly, his face neutral as if he wasn’t perfectly aware of the way Harry usually reacts when Draco speaks French.

Harry drops his knife, only dully aware of the way it clatters on the table, an involuntary shiver going through his body and straight to his cock. He swallows down the desire to beg Draco to say more, knowing that Draco speaking French while they’re still on babysitting duty will only end with Harry wanting to bang his head into the wall in sexual frustration. He’s not even sure exactly what Draco said, just knows it involved something about the jam and Harry with a fairly wicked smirk, and that's more than enough to supply him with an ample repotrie of mental images.

“Harry… Harry can we play after breakfast?” Teddy kicks his short legs, banging the side of the table loudly with his feet with each motion and dribbling beans down onto his pajamas.

“Of course, Teddy. We can play anything you want.”

“Wicked,” Teddy says with a grin, dribbling beans down onto his pajamas as he talks with his mouth full.

Three hours later Harry slightly regrets telling Teddy anything. Teddy had started with only wanting to play exploding snap, but once he’d realized he couldn’t beat Harry he’d moved on to wanting to build a fort which had led to their entire living room looking like some sort of bomb had gone off. Harry had spent nearly half an hour spelling blankets up and stacking pillows until he felt relatively satisfied the fort was perfect. At which point he realized Teddy was gone and going through Draco’s collection of antique spell books in the library. Once Harry got that sorted Teddy had decided he was hungry again, and only a cheese toastie would do, but seeing as they had neither cheese nor bread it had led to an impromptu trip to Tesco’s during which Teddy had somehow persuaded Harry to buy several items that were most definitely not on the list, and would earn him another ear full from Draco.

By the time they make it back to the flat Teddy is cranky from falling in the snow and getting Mr. Plumpkin wet, hungry, and in a fairly sour mood despite Harry’s best attempts. The only thing that seems to make it any better is the piping hot cheese toastie and glass of milk Harry gives him ten minutes later.

When Andromeda finally comes to pick him up at half-past four Teddy is passed out on the couch and has to be taken through the floo asleep. Once they’re gone Harry collapses back onto the couch with a grown, throwing his arms over the back of the couch and stretching his legs out.

“How the bloody hell do kids have so much energy?”

Draco laughs, dropping down on the couch next to Harry and setting his legs in his lap.

“I think it's well documented that they siphon it from the adults around them like miniature energy vampires.”

Harry laughs, dropping his hand to Draco’s calves, then moving his hand down to rub circles on his ankle. “So now that we’re finally kid free does that mean I get my advent?”

Draco hums softly, “Oh I don’t know, I’m awfully knackered.”

Harry’s hand stills and he pinches Draco lightly. “You lying prat. You laid on the sofa all day watching us!”

“Oh did I? Yes, you’re right I did. Awfully exhausting watching the two of you. Neither one of you ever stops moving do you know that?”

“Stop stalling, where is my gift?”

“Impatient bastard. Fine, you’ll get what you want.” Draco pretends to complain, but he smiles as he rises from the couch and takes Harry’s hand and pulls him with him.

Harry feels anticipation swarming within him as the knowledge that this is almost over hits him, and not sure he’s ready for it to be. He pulls open door twenty-one, surprised when whatever is inside is so big he can't seem to pull it out. He grabs his wand, enlarging the door and pulling it out.

“What the fuck is this?”

“I should think that was pretty obvious, Harry,” Draco all but purrs, moving to stand behind him, his chest pressed into Harry’s back, his cock nestled against the curse of Harry’s arse.

“It looks like a candy cane, but…” He trails off, leaving the except its about nine inches long and thicker than your fucking cock unspoken. A wave of heat rushes over Harry at the idea of what this might be for, of the last time Draco had done something like this.

“Don’t you want to know what it's for Harry?” His voice feels like ice, sending chills across Harry’s body and he isn’t sure how he’s supposed to think when he knows very well what the fuck this is for and where it will be going.

Harry really means to answer, but when he opens his mouth all that comes out is a little moan because Draco’s hand is sliding down his chest to cup his cock through the flimsy fabric of his joggers. “Oh, Harry. Merlin, you want this so bad don’t you? You want to know what it will feel like if I open you open, filling you with his instead of my cock. It’s so hard, so thick, and it won’t feel anything like the meaty flesh of my cock sliding into your body. But you want it don’t you?”

Harry closes his eyes, dropping his head back on to Draco’s shoulder and exposing his neck. Draco latches on immediately, sucking on the pulse point until an angry red mark appears, pulling back to lick at it. “Mmm, merlin you taste good. I want to taste you everywhere. Want to taste your cock, drag my tongue across your arse, want to suck on your balls until you’re screaming as I press the candy cane inside of you.”

“Fucking hell, Draco.”

Draco’s hand never lets up it’s assault, massaging Harry’s already hard cock through his pants as his mouth moves across Harry’s neck. “Gonna fuck you with the candy cane. Your arse is so tight and hot, and as it slides in and out of you my mouth is going to water. I’m going to lick all that sticky sweetness off the crease of your arse and trembling thighs as the heat from your body nearly melts it. Then when your hands are ripping the sheets and you’re so close to coming I’m going to stop, pulling it from your body with an audible pop, and watching the way you’ll arch up into me, needing more, needing me. Because it doesn’t matter how big or hard this is, it's not my cock, and you love my cock don’t you Harry? Then I’m going to kiss you. Let you taste yourself on my tongue, minty and musky as I slide inside of your open hole and fuck you until you lose control.”

“Just do it already, fuck,” Harry snaps, body already keyed up with tension and want, and they aren’t even naked yet. He expects Draco to laugh, or chastise him about being impatient, but instead Draco’s hand stills and he moves his mouth to Harry’s ear.

“Take off your clothes and lay on the bed. Right now.” Draco’s words can be taken as nothing short of a direct order, and Harry’s knees buckle under the weight of it.

Draco nudges his arse gently and Harry stumbles a bit, nearly tripping in his haste to pull off his joggers and underpants. He yanks his shirt off quickly, knocking his glasses to the floor and crawling onto the bed, laying on his back and spreading his legs for Draco, who is now in an equal state of undress and crawling towards him with the obscenely large candy cane in his hand.

Harry can’t tear his eyes away from it, wondering if its normal to feel so turned on by the idea of being fucked with a giant sweet that sort of looks like it was hit with a wonky engorgement charm. Draco for his part looks almost drunk with desire as he takes the lube from the drawer, coating his hands with a generous amount before moving them to Harry’s arse. He wastes no time in circling the skin with his thumb, soothing ministrations that make Harry close his eyes and sigh, until Draco presses a finger in without warning. It’s not enough to burn, not until a second finger is added not long after. Draco is so thorough, twisting and thrusting and stretching him open before adding a third, and Harry tries to stay still but it just feels so good. If he weren’t so fucking obsessed with Draco’s cock he thinks they’d probably do this more, but Harry usually ends up begging Draco to just bloody get on with it after two fingers.

“Draco,” he whines, pushing his hips against Draco’s fingers when a fourth is added. It’s more prep than he usually gets, and even though Harry knows it's necessary for what’s going to be pushed inside of him next he still has to resist the urge to tell Draco to get a move on it.

Harry’s eyes fly open when Draco’s fingers leave, instantly missing the pressure only to have it replaced by something solid and vastly larger than Draco’s fingers. “Fuck,” he yells, the heels of his feet digging into the mattress as he hisses.

“Hey, relax. Shhh,” Draco soothes, his hair brushing against the inside of Harry’s thigh as he presses a kiss atop Harry’s hipbone. “You’re doing so good. Fuck, look at you taking it in. You’d take anything I give you wouldn’t you, Harry? Let me do anything to you?”

Harry can’t speak so he just nods instead, his neck aching from the strain of trying to watch the red and white striped monstrosity sink inside of his body. Draco’s long fingers are wrapped around the end, slowly working it inside of him inch by inch until it’s buried inside of his body only halfway, leaving a few inches to peek out of his stretched hole. It doesn’t make sense to feel so owned when it's not even Draco's mouth or cock or fingers inside of him, but Harry does; feels consumed by the other man even if it's something else filling him up. It’s filthy and illicit and Harry really can’t stop the scream that comes out of his mouth when Draco begins to suck on the end of the candy cane sticking out of his arse, those pale cheeks hallowed around the over-sized sweet and the tip of Draco’s nose brushing against Harry’s balls as Draco basically tries to deep throat it.

The acute pressure and burn in his arse is too much to bare, he feels so full, but it's different; it's utterly unsatisfying. He wants the curve of Draco’s cock, the warm flesh and throbbing muscle and Harry is just about to beg for it when he feels the candy cane being pulled out.

And fuck it all if Draco wasn’t right because his hips snap up at the loss of the candy cane as Draco holds him in place, leaning forward and dragging his tongue along Harry’s arse. Harry can’t stop the needy sound that is ripped from his throat as Draco’s tongue presses in. It's so much warmer and softer but it's not enough; he’s stretched open so wide and he needs to be filled. Then Draco is there, pushing Harry’s knees back to his chest and bending him in half as he kisses him almost brutally.

Harry keens, his nails nearly bursting the skin of his calves open. He wants this. He needs this. Needs everything.

The kiss is nothing short of indecent. Draco’s cheeks are sticky, his lips stained red and Harry can taste peppermint and something else faint that can only be the taste of his own arse. It makes him want to devour Draco and he needs to touch him now. Draco takes pity on Harry’s scrambling hands, lifting Harry’s knees over his shoulders as he presses his cock inside of him and threads his fingers with Harry’s, pressing Harry’s arms above his head as he begins to fuck him hard and fast.

Everything becomes a blur of desperate sounds and sloppy kisses, skin sliding together deliciously. It isn’t long before Harry’s muscles clench around Draco, his come shooting out across his stomach. Draco stills for a long moment, just watching Harry, whose chest is heaving with the effort of trying to remember how to breathe. He tries to blow the hair out of his eyes, feeling sticky and sore and exhausted; feeling completely fucking happy.

Draco, however, seems unable to move, his body tense and his hands holding onto Harry’s tight enough it almost hurts. Harry flexes his hips up, turning his head to the side and presses a soft kiss to the faded dark mark before him, whispering against the scarred skin, “Let go, Draco. I’m yours. Use me.”

Draco visibly shudders, the words clearly breaking through his resolve as he moves his hips almost brutally, with an intensity that is mesmerizing, and Harry can do nothing but whimper. It doesn’t take long before Draco is burying his face in Harry’s neck with a sob.

It is several long, quiet minutes before either of them speak.

Draco finally breaks the silence as he pulls himself out of Harry’s body and collapses beside him with a huff. “You know, I hated candy canes growing up, but I do believe they’re growing on me.”

Harry cracks an eye open to stare at him incredulously. Draco winks at him, and Harry thinks it’s supposed to be alluring, but really Draco is a bit of a disaster, his hair stuck to his cheek and his body covered in red finger marks and come. He looks wrecked. It’s not exactly sexy, but it is intoxicating, knowing he was the one to make him look that way.

Harry reaches down on the bed, reaching around blindly unwilling to take his eyes off Draco’s face, till he finds Draco’s hand, entwining their fingers and smiling. Draco smiles back and Harry thinks that maybe he’s never seen him look quite so beautiful.


	22. 22 December

Harry pushes the door to the small cafe open, the bell above it tinkling with a cheerful chime as it shuts behind him. He shakes the snow from his hair, feeling the warmth from inside seep into his chilled body. Though he’s never been to this particular muggle cafe he can see immediately why Luna picked it for their lunch. It doesn't take long before he spots Luna sitting alone in a corner booth, nestled among a mass of strange mismatched pillows. There is a collection of tiny glass figurines hanging from the window sill and the midday sun that streams through has them casting shimmering rainbows across Luna’s smiling face.

Luna chooses that moment to look up, an even bigger smile spreading across her face as she waves to him excitedly.

Harry crosses the cramped cafe easily, weaving his way in and out of tables crowded with people, the floor littered with their Christmas shopping and the tables piled high with food that looks delicious enough to make Harry’s stomach grumble. Luna moves to stand and Harry doesn’t waste a second enveloping her in a familiar hug. “I’ve missed you,” he whispers into her hair.

“Oh, Harry, you always did give the best hugs.”

Harry’s stomach chooses that moment to growl loudly and he pulls out of the hug looking sheepish. “Sorry, I’m starving.”

“You’re so silly, Harry. You don’t have to apologize for a normal bodily reaction. Besides the food is very good here. I thought you might like the curry here. Oh, and they do a wonderful sandwich with crisps. I’m so glad you could get away from your busy work schedule to meet me for lunch today.”

“I don't think my schedule is all that taxing anymore, not really. Not most days anyway. Besides, even if it was I’d still always make time for you.”

Luna tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and just watches Harry. “You’re a very good friend, Harry.”

Harry shrugs, pulling a small package out of his coat pocket and sliding it across the table. “I got you this. Teddy helped pick it out.”

“Oh, a present... I love presents! It’s so nice when people think of you, isn’t it?

Harry opens his mouth to respond when she begins to empty her pockets, pulling out random bits of parchment, a few artifacts Harry has never seen before and for some reason several bits of dried flowers. At Harry’s prompting she dissolves into lengthy explanation of what she’s been doing in North America the last six months, though when she begins to describe in vivid detail the differences between wizard sex habits between North American and British Wizards he only slightly regrets asking her to tell him everything about her research into sexuality and wizarding power levels.

“So you see, Harry, I think there is some clear research showing us that those most sexually repressed are at a disadvantage for exploring the abilities of wandless and wordless magic. I really think the Minister will be very interested to hear all of my research. It’s such a pity there’s no sexual education at Hogwarts, we’re all far too repressed. I’ve got to present this research to the Headmistress as well. I’m sure she’d love to know how useful orgasm can be to unlocking innate magical ability. Not that you suffer from that problem of course. You and Draco have a wonderful sex life.” She gives him a very pointed look.

Harry nearly chokes on his tea, cough a few times as Luna pats him gently on the back.

“Oh don’t be embarrassed. Draco has been telling me all about this advent thing I think it's just marvelous how you’ve finally been able to really let go and not be embarrassed to let Draco give you what you need.”

“I, uh... that is...” But he trails off uselessly, choosing instead to fill his mouth with a too large bite of his ham sandwich instead of speaking. Despite his initial surprise that Luna knows about the advent, the more he thinks about it the more he realizes it shouldn’t really be all that surprising. Draco had become friends with Luna long before he had gotten together with Harry, and aside from himself, Luna is the only person he can think of that has any idea who Draco Malfoy really is. In hindsight, the massive amount of owls Luna and Draco had been sending each other the last few months while she was away on her research trip, and that Draco had pointedly refused to discuss with him, really should’ve been a tip-off as well.

Luna for her part doesn't seem to mind Harry’s lack of response. Harry had almost forgotten how easy it is to be around Luna, her warm if sometimes odd responses and the innate ability she didn't even realize she had to understand other people. It makes something warm pool in his stomach and he reaches out to squeeze her hand, suddenly overwhelmed by how much he has missed Luna, and how much her friendship means to him. “I’m glad you’re home, Luna.”

A look of delight spreads across her face as she squeezes his hand back. “Me too, Harry.”

They spend the next hour and a half chatting about everything and nothing, and when Harry returns to the office nearly two hours past when his lunch was supposed to have ended he doesn’t even feel remotely guilty. Harry floats through the rest of his day at work, surprised at how fast the hours seem to speed by.

When it's time to floo home, Harry has every intention of teasing Draco mercilessly about how secret letters with Luna. Though his entire plan falls away once he’s actually home.

“So I had Lunch with Luna today,” Harry says, attempting nonchalance as he sips his beer.

“I thought she wasn’t going to be back in England until after Christmas.”

“She decided to end her trip a few days early. She sent me an owl at work asking me to meet her for lunch. She had the most interesting things to say.”

Draco’s hand stills halfway to his mouth, a faint blush spreading across the base of his neck. “What exactly did she have to say?”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to tell him exactly what she said, but something stops him, and he watches intently as Draco’s body language abruptly shifts. He looks nervous, almost unsure. Harry doesn’t know what it means, but he does know he has absolutely no desire to tease him about it. “She was telling me about her research. I think she plans on ambushing Kingsley and McGonagall at the Ministry Gala on New Year's Eve and bombarding them with facts about sexual and magical prowess being intrinsically linked.”

Some of the tension seems to leave Draco’s shoulders and he finally takes a bite of his dinner, chewing slowly before speaking. “I had wondered how she meant to present that research.”

“Do you wonder how thorough her research was?” Harry asks, suddenly filled with a myriad of strange mental images.

Draco begins to laugh. “You really, really don’t want to know, Harry. Trust me.”

Harry is pretty sure he doesn’t want to know and has a sudden new understanding of just what kinds of things Luna and Draco must talk about when Harry isn’t around.

Once they’ve both finished eating Harry beings to collect the plates, stacking them into the small sink carefully and rolling up his sleeves in preparation of doing the washing up. Draco usually teases him about doing it the muggle way, but Harry discovered not long after they moved in together that when it's something he is choosing to do and not being forced to do by his Aunt and Uncle, he rather enjoys the monotonous task. That, and no matter how many times Draco has tried to convince him otherwise, cleaning charms are most definitely not the same, and whenever Draco ends up doing the dishes Harry inevitably finds specks of food on them when he goes to put them away which makes him feel a bit twitchy.

“Harry, I think the washing up can wait til later!” Draco’s voice carries down the hallway from the bedroom.

It’s on the tip of his tongue to remind Draco that dried on pasta is quite hard to get off when he realizes he’s about to make an argument for chores ever sex, so he shuts the water off, grabbing a tea towel and drying his hands as he tries to walk, not run, to the bedroom.

“That was awfully fast,” Draco teases, and Harry wads up the tea towel and chucks it at his head in response.

“Wanker.”

“Mmm, I do love a good wank, but that’s not what I had in mind for tonight.”

Harry’s retort dies on his lips at the look Draco shoots him and he finds himself grinning unabashedly to himself as he heads to the advent. It takes a few minutes to locate door number twenty-two, probably because it is by far the smallest door there, the glittering numbers barely visible. He cannot imagine anything fitting inside a door that tiny. He can’t stop the small noise of surprise when he opens it up.

“A fizzing whizbee. That’s all?” He doesn't mean for it to sound ungrateful, he’s just not sure what exactly they can do with it besides eating it.

“Oh, Harry,” Draco says, sounding almost pleased at Harry’s confusion. “Haven’t you learned anything over the last three weeks. It’s not what's in the advent that really matters, but how you use it. And trust me I know exactly how to use this.”

Harry tries not to shudder at the tone, the small sherbert ball clenched in his hand. Truth be told, Harry had been rather fond of these treats in the past, at least until he’d realized they were likely made with dried Billywigs, at which point he’d lost his affinity for the novelty sweet. He doesn’t think he’s had one since and hadn’t really planned on having one again, but Draco’s tone has him curious enough to push aside any reservations he previously held about how exactly the Queenbee company makes Fizzing Whizbees, and what it is that makes you float.

“So…you just want me to um, just eat it?” he asks, already a bit breathless as his mind begins to supply him with multiple possibilities, each one more appealing than the last.

Draco nods his head in agreement, dragging his hands down Harry’s chest and grabbing the bottom of his jumper, yanking it off his head with no warning. His glasses fall to the floor, but Draco bends down to retrieve them sliding them back onto Harry’s face gently. “Trust me, you’re going to want to be able to see.”

“What exactly am I gonna see?”

Draco looks almost predatory as he drops to his knees, kissing his way from Harry’s belly button to the zipper on his jeans, placing his hands on Harry’s hips to hold him firmly in place as he drags the zipper down with his teeth.

“Put it in your mouth, Harry,” he instructs, pulling the jeans and his underpants down to pool around his ankles.

Harry notices that Draco hasn’t yet answered his question, but he still pops the sweet into his mouth without further questions, eager to find out what this is all about. Immediately his taste buds pick up on the all too familiar sweetness, and he presses it to the roof of his mouth sucking hard until he feels it kick in; he feels a bit of weightlessness spread through his body until he’s lifted several inches off the floor, his cock bouncing in front of Draco’s face.

Draco looks up at him, eyes veiled with lust as he opens his mouth to lick a broad strip along the underside of Harry’s cock. “Mmm, delicious,” he mutters as if he were the one eating sweets. “I’m going to suck you while you suck that, Harry. But no coming until the candy is gone. And no biting either.”

“Fuck, yeah — okay,” he groans, his hands scrambling to grip Draco’s shoulders as Draco envelops his cock with his mouth. Draco has given Harry plenty of blowjobs, but none like this, none while floating. It’s only a few inches off the ground but the change in sensation is enough to heighten everything he feels, to make it seem different, more exciting.

Draco had been right when he’d said Harry would want to watch because Draco loved sucking cock, and watching him do so always got Harry hot and bothered faster than almost anything else. Draco always did it with a voracity that seemed so opposite to the type of composure he displayed outside of the bedroom, and it made Harry feel wanton.

Draco wastes no time in pulling out every trick on the book, his hands running up and down Harry’s thighs, fingers stroking along the supple curve of his arse as he makes lewd noises against Harry’s cock, moaning as if someone were sucking his cock.

Harry is almost embarrassed by the speed with which he feels something pooling in his stomach, his cock so hard it almost aches. He slides his hands into Draco’s hair, fucking his face and panting out a plea for more and harder and faster.

He’s so close, feels his toes curling when Draco pulls back suddenly, his lips swollen and his hair a mess. “Did you finish your sweet, Harry?”

Harry starts, sucking in a breath and shaking his head. He’d been watching Draco so intently he’d just about forgotten the sweet was in his mouth. He closes his mouth and begins to suck again, whining in frustration because the sodding thing is only half gone and now Draco is licking and sucking at just the tip, his hand wrapping firmly around the base of Harry’s cock preventing him from tipping over the edge. Every time he flounders, his toes nearly reaching the floor as he bobs about in the air, Draco pulls away, sucking on his hip bone and teasingly pulling his arse cheeks apart to blow a cool breath of air against his warm skin.

Harry feels like he’s being driven crazy, wants to spit the fucking candy out or bite down hard until it shatters into a million fractured pieces the same way his own resolve is breaking.

It goes on like that for long minutes; Harry being brought to the edge only to be pulled back over and over, until Harry is pounding his fists against the wall behind him, spreading his legs mid-air and thrusting his hips out, his cock barely brushing across the side of Draco’s face.

“Fuck please, Draco. I need to come, please,” he pleads around the small bit of sweet still in his mouth.

Draco pulls his mouth off of Harry’s cock, choosing instead to nuzzle the patch of hair above the base. “You know the rules, Harry. No coming until you’ve sucked that thing dry. Then I’ll suck you dry.” His breath ghosts across Harry’s cock and can’t still his hips, urging himself closer to Draco’s mouth.

Draco makes a small tutting noise but doesn’t stop touching Harry, instead lavishing attention on the tip of his cock, kissing it once before swirling his tongue around the foreskin at the end.

Harry feels a bit like he’s being driven crazy by the sight of Draco’s mouth near his cock so close to tipping him over the edge and yet unable to come. He only lasts a few moments longer before he slams his eyes shut, sucking as hard as he can and moving the sweet around in his mouth desperate for it to be gone; desperate to come. It doesn’t take long before the last bit of sweet is gone and his feet slam back to the ground with a loud thump. Draco chokes for a second, rapidly adjusting his technique for the height change and sucking on Harry’s cock relentlessly until Harry is coming with a muffled scream, his fist shoved in his mouth.

When Harry finally opens his eyes he’s met with the sight of Draco still on his knees before him, his usually neat hair tugged up at strange angles and his lips red and swollen. His chest heaves and he is just wrapping his fingers around his own cock, clearly about to bring himself off when Harry drops to his knees in front of him, pushing Draco’s hand away.

“Want a turn?” Harry asks, leaning forward press his lips to Draco’s.

Draco relaxes into the kiss, his hand coming up to rest on Harry’s shoulder as he whispers, “I don’t have anymore Fizzing Whizbees.”

Harry beams at him, placing his hands on Draco’s chest and pushing him onto his back. “Oh, Draco, I don’t need sweets to make you feel like you’re flying.”


	23. 23 December

For the first time in a long time, Harry wakes up not bemoaning the fact that it is a Tuesday. Granted, Tuesdays are never as bad as Mondays, but they still aren’t Fridays. Not even the obnoxiously bright morning light can dull his mood as he rolls over to find Draco with his face shoved into his pillow, his hair sticking up sideways and the sheet falling down off his hips, resting just above the curve of his naked arse. It makes Harry’s cock twitch with interest despite the fact that they both stayed up half the night having sex and his arse is still a bit sore.

“Stop ogling me in my sleep you utter cretin,” Draco mumbles into his pillow, his eyes still squeezed shut as he rolls onto his back and stretches languidly. Harry is unsure how anyone can manage to sound so fucking posh while looking a little bit like a bear that just crawled out of hibernation. It’s adorable and slightly maddening all at once.

“Wasn’t ogling you.”

Draco snorts in disbelief, cracking an eye open to watch Harry’s face as he purposely continues stretching in a way that he knows shows off the sharp planes of his hip bones and his long legs. Harry squeezes his pillow even tighter, trying to will down his burgeoning erection because he’s pretty sure they don’t have time this morning. Once Draco is sure that Harry is watching he kicks the sheet off, exposing a full expanse of naked skin. Harry itches to touch him but also doesn’t want Draco to stop doing whatever it is he’s doing.

Draco cracks his eyes open, shooting Harry a soft smile. “Open the door.”

Harry blinks in surprise. “This morning? Are you sure?”

“Yes, this morning. Have I ever told you anything I wasn’t absolutely positive about?”

“Fair enough,” Harry says with a shrug, not bothering to get dressed, and instead scooting off the bed and padding across the floor naked, immediately finding door number twenty-three and opening it. Inside is not an object per say, but a small sheet of paper that Harry pulls out with mounting curiosity.

Harry moves closer to the window so he can read it, blinking in bewilderment at what he holds in his hand.

“Draco, what is this?”

“It’s exactly what it looks like.”

“What it looks like is a transfer authorization from the Malfoy vault to the Wizarding Council for Civil Liberties.”

Draco hums his agreement, moving towards his wardrobe and pulling out a pair of black trousers. “That’s what it is,” he eventually answers, attempting nonchalance but Harry knows him well enough to recognize a sort of nervousness in him as he pulls on a white shirt, his fingers lingering longer than usual on each button.

“What’s the catch?”

“There’s no catch.”

“Then why is it blank?”

Draco turns at that, his lips quirking up at the corner as he smooths down the collar of his shirt. “Ah, now you’ve asked the right question. That, Harry, is in fact a blank transfer authorization. The amount to be deposited... well that’s going to be determined tonight, at exactly midnight.”

Harry suddenly feels the weight of his nakedness as Draco eyes him, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest. “What’s happening at midnight?”

“That’s when your time is up.”

“When my... wait, what?”

Draco pushes himself off the wardrobe, stalking across the room towards Harry purposefully. Though Draco is only a little over an inch taller than him Harry has never felt it more than he does now, with Draco looking down at him intently.

“I know how much the Wizarding Council for Civil Liberties means to you,” he begins haughtily and Harry has to suppress a snort because Draco acts as if he weren’t right alongside Harry a few months ago, throwing his name and money behind their campaign for equal rights for the LGBTQ Wizarding community, aiming to get the Wizengamot to recognize a gender-neutral term for the magical community. “So I thought a little game of sorts might be fun.”

Harry feels a thrill of excitement coursing through him. “What kind of game?”

Draco’s look turns positively predatory as he pokes Harry's chest with his finger. “For every time you can get me to come before the clock strikes midnight, I’ll donate one thousand galleons to your charity.”

Harry splutters at the amount of money Draco is proposing, blinking a few times in shock. “One thousand galleons. For making you come?”

“Are you up to the challenge, Potter? Because I’m not exactly ea—” But Harry cuts him off with a searing kiss, walking him backwards until they collide with the wardrobe. Harry doesn’t let Draco say anything else before he drops to his knees and nuzzles at Draco’s cock through the fabric of his trousers, carelessly yanking his belt open and popping off one of the buttons as he tugs them down.

“I’m going to be late for work,” Draco protests, but he wiggles his hips trying to help Harry ease his trousers down, which make his complaints seem half-hearted at best.

Harry takes a brief moment to appreciate Draco’s cock, pale and half hard already, nestled among short, pale curls. He looks up at Draco, ready for the biting ‘ _what’s taking so long?’_  but instead, long fingers slide simply into his hair and Harry hums in pleasure as he sucks Draco’s cock into his mouth, delighting in the way it hardens against his tongue.

Draco closes his eyes, dropping his head back with a dull thud and tugging harder on Harry’s hair. “Fuck, your mouth is amazing.”

Harry nearly purrs at the praise, knowing how much Draco likes to feel the vibration, almost as much as he loves the sound of Harry thoroughly enjoying getting Draco off. It doesn’t take long, just a few minutes of Harry’s mouth sucking and licking as he grips Draco’s thighs tightly, before Draco’s hands pull roughly at his hair, a quiet moment of surrender before Draco tips over the edge.

“Fucking hell, you do get off on helping people,” Draco laughs almost breathlessly, tugging Harry up to stand up and pulling him against his chest with a wicked smile. “I think it’s only fair if I return the favor.”

Harry grins, surrendering to Draco’s touched. They’re both very late for work that morning.

Harry is surprised he manages to make it through his Monday morning meeting with Robards when all he can think about is Draco’s cock, but he manages somehow, mumbling his excuses as it nears its end and rushing to the floo.

Harry makes it to Draco’s office at exactly half-past ten. He tries not to blush as he walks past Draco’s secretary who shoots him a rather knowing look.

Draco looks up from his deposition at the sound of his door opening, hiding his smile as he speaks. “I have a meeting in fifteen minutes and I cannot be late, this is highly—”

“Oh shut up and take off your clothes,” Harry orders, throwing a locking charm at the door as he chucks off his own clothing in a trail across the floor.

“Bossy little wanker aren’t you? Goodness me, had I realized the mention of charity would get you so hot and bothered I would have brought this up much earlier.”

“Oh please, this isn’t that much more sex than we usually have. Well not yet anyway,” Harry laughs, straddling Draco’s waist. “You really need to take your trousers off, by the way. A bit hard for me to make you come if you’re wearing these.”

“Bit hard to take them off with your naked arse in my lap.”

“Want me to move?” Harry asks innocently, wiggling his arse and pressing his cock into Draco’s shirt, delighting in the way Draco’s eyes flutter shut and his hands clench on the arms of his chair.

“You probably should move,” Draco mumbles against Harry’s collarbone, running his tongue along its sharp edge.

Harry doesn’t know what it is about the idea of getting Draco off like this — its not as if they don’t both make regular contributions to charity — and its not as if he doesn’t get Draco off almost daily, but he cannot deny there’s something in the nature of it that makes it feel exhilarating, makes Harry feel bolder than usual.

“You don’t want to take them off. do you?” Harry asks a bit breathlessly because Draco’s fingers are lightly stroking down the dip of his arse as Draco whispers a lubrication spell and pushes one finger inside of Harry, making him squirm. “You want to fuck me with your work clothes on then spell them clean later, don’t you? You want the memory of me all over you, don’t you, Draco?” he groans, not sure where the words are coming from because it’s always Draco who talks like this, not him.

“Fuck, Harry,” Draco shudders, a second finger slipping inside Harry’s arse. Harry can feel the line of Draco’s hard cock through his trousers, a wet spot blossoming near the zipper.

“Merlin, you really do like that idea, don’t you? You want to go to your meeting with the Minister knowing your clothes were covered in a little bit of me, don’t you,” he whispers in Draco’s ear, echoing the shudder he feels beneath him as Draco nearly sobs.

“I’m always yours, you know,” Harry huffs right as Draco presses a third finger inside, crooking it until he’s pressing against Harry’s prostate. Harry groans loudly in response, briefly thinking he should’ve used a Silencing charm as well, before succumbing to the pleasure and dropping his chin lower to rest on top of Draco’s head.

Harry’s hands finally reach down between their bodies, undoing Draco’s zipper a bit awkwardly because of the angle, and lifting Draco’s cock out. This time Draco does sob, his teeth sinking into Harry’s nipple as he tries not to whine.

“Draco,” Harry murmurs softly. Harry barely manages to get his fingers wrapped around Draco’s cock, one firm stroke before Draco is shoving his face into Harry’s chest so forcefully he nearly knocks them over, coming across Harry’s hand and chest.

Draco’s own chest heaves, his hands still moving in and out of Harry’s body rapidly despite the stillness in the rest of his body.

“Come for me, Harry. Come on me, please.”

Harry chokes out a sound he’s not sure he’s ever made as he wraps his hand, still coated in Draco’s come, around his own cock and strokes himself to completion while Draco enthusiastically rubs at his prostate.

“Fuck, I’m going to be so fucking late, you absolute fucking tosser,” Draco chides once he’s caught his breath a few minutes later.

Harry feels rather pleased with himself, looking down at the mess they both make, they softening cocks nestled together between them. “I’m pretty sure that’s the least of your worries. You’re... a little messy,” he says, smiling brightly.

“You’re insufferable.”

“Mmm, and you love it,” Harry answers, tangling his sticky fingers in Draco’s hair.

Draco grumbles a bit, reaching for his wand and casting three cleaning charms in succession. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Don’t I know it.”

Draco manages to dislodge Harry from his lap despite Harry’s every attempt to thwart him, gathering up his papers in a rush and moving to stand it. “Yes, well... well you better get dressed before you leave my office. I don’t want you giving my secretary a heart attack.”

“Actually I wasn’t planning on leaving.”

Draco stops at the door, his hand poised above the handle as he stares at Harry. “You’re going to miss work.”

Harry just smirks, not making a move to get dressed as he moves towards Draco’s expensive leather sofa lays across it. “I’ve got an awful lot of sick days building up. Thought perhaps I ought to use one. So, if you need me I’ll be here. Naked. Waiting for you.”

Draco inhales a slow breath, a smirk of his own spreading across his face. “It could be a very long meeting. You might get awfully bored.”

“I’m sure I’ll find ways to occupy myself.”

“Fine, but don’t touch anything. I swear to Merlin if you mess up my system for organization.”

Harry waves his hands at Draco in a shooing motion, earning himself a dirty look. Harry can’t help but feel as if he’s definitely won as Draco shuts the door. His opinion on the matter, however, changes when, after over an hour, Draco still isn’t back. Harry gets tired of being naked on the leather after his arse starts to sweat, and he’s truthfully too afraid to touch anything on Draco’s desk with such a big case coming up. In the end, he gets dressed again, popping out for tea and meat pies. By the time he returns Draco is already back in his office, bent over a tedious looking form.

“I knew you’d get bored,” Draco says, sounding amused despite the frown on his face.

“I brought you food,” Harry supplies with a shrug, setting it down on the desk.

“Thank you, but I don’t have time to eat. Or for sex. The Minister was not pleased with how much work we have left to do before we present the Wizengamot on the third and— What are you doing?” Draco gasps as Harry moves behind him, pulling his chair back and maneuvering Draco so that his legs are spread, hands braced on the desk.

“Don’t mind me, just pretend I’m not here. Carry on with your paperwork. I’ll entertain myself.”

“Harry, what-” but his words die on his lips as Harry banishes his pants, dropping to his knees and wasting no time at all in putting his tongue exactly where he wants it. Draco lets out a bit of a whimper, his fingers clenching around the solid edge of the desk as he thrusts his arse back. Harry has never gotten off on being on the giving end of this quite as much as Draco, but in this moment Harry thinks he understands what Draco had tried to describe to him after the first time he’d done it; an overwhelming sense of intimacy and power.

Harry is pretty sure Draco doesn’t actually manage to get anything done since he snaps his quill in half the moment Harry’s tongue pushes inside of Draco’s body and knocks his papers to the floor two minutes later when Harry adds in a finger alongside his tongue. It doesn't take long before Draco is dropping down, laying across his desk completely spread out before Harry, who probes and licks at Draco’s arse like his life depends on it.

When Draco finally comes it is with a cry that makes Harry quite sure they should’ve used a silencing charm this time. Draco just groans, rising from his desk and swatting Harry on the arse and banishing him from his office for at least two hours, and as Harry makes his way out the door he catches himself transfixed by the faint blush along Draco’s neck.

Once Harry is finally let back into Draco’s office a few hours later Harry is only glad he went and had a snack first, because they end up fucking against the wall and on the desk, all before its time to head home.

They spend the entirety of dinner trading insults and innuendo, each one meant to one-up the one before it, and which ultimately leaves both of them so hot and bothered they end up on the kitchen floor, half naked and moaning.

“Merlin, you’re such a fucking do-gooder, Harry.”

Harry groans loudly, his hands gripping Draco’s sides tightly as he grinds his hips down, finally sinking onto Draco’s cock. “Pretty sure you’re the one currently fucking a do gooder.”

Draco begins to laugh, but it turns into a sound of pleasure as Harry picks up the pace, starting to stroke himself as he moves faster. Harry comes first, a sigh of pleasure slipping from his lips as Draco rolls them over, wrapping Harry’s legs around his waist and thrusting in hard and fast until he’s shuddering his release inside of Harry.

They don’t manage to clean up the mess from dinner, or the mess on the floor, both so spent they barely make it to bed, collapsing together in a tangle of sweaty arms and legs. Harry falls asleep with his face shoved into Draco’s shoulder, not a single idea how much money will be donated, only knowing they both ended up on the winning side of this.


	24. 24 December

“Happy Christmas Eve.” The words are whispered against the bare skin of Harry’s shoulder almost reverently, familiar hands stroking down the curve of his back.

“Mmm, Happy Christmas Eve,” Harry answers sleepily, too comfortable to move. Draco’s finger’s continue to stroke down the line of his spine as Harry hums happily against his pillow. It takes him a few seconds to realize Draco’s voice has come from the wrong side of the bed and when he finally forces his eyes open it's to the blurry image of Draco already dressed, leaning over him with an amused look on his face. “Did I sleep late?”

“No, I have to go into the office early. I know it's Christmas Eve, I just... I want to make sure I’m not home late tonight.” He looks almost anxious and Harry can’t imagine why. “It’s the last day of the advent.”

“It’s okay that it’s going to end, it won’t change things.” Draco doesn’t say anything to that, just hands him his glasses, and as Harry slides them on he worries he’s said the wrong thing because there’s something in Draco’s expression he can’t place. A sort of nervous energy buzzing around him. “I mean, okay it’ll be a little weird for it to end, it’s been nice. More than nice. Probably the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me... but... well, I know some of it was a little more intense than what we usually do. But I liked it. A lot. All of it... and just because today’s the last day—” But he trails off, moving to sit up and pull the blankets around his lap.

“I liked it too,” Draco whispers, pressing an almost gentle kiss to his lips. “I’ll see you tonight.”

He doesn’t even get a chance to reply because Draco is already speeding out of the room so Harry watches him leave, turning his attention to the advent house in the corner of the room when he hears the familiar whoosh of the floo from down the hallway. He can’t recall anyone going to so much trouble for him, not like this.

Harry pushes aside his worry at Draco’s nervousness, though, as he dresses for the day, hurriedly eating his breakfast and eventually chalking Draco’s odd behaviour up to stress from his case and it being the last day of the advent, though Harry can’t imagine anything sex-related inside of the last door that could make Draco look apprehensive, especially not after all the things they’ve done over the last few weeks.

When he arrives at work he has absolutely no time to think too hard about his previous worries, because his entire Department is a flurry of activity. He’d hoped today might have been slow he could leave early — he’d wanted to surprise Draco by making his favorite dinner. His hopes are squashed completely, however, when not five minutes after his arrival a list of Auror requests over a foot long lands on his desk before he’s even had a chance to take the first drink of his tea.

 

> _Auror Assistance Required immediately at the following locations, all supervising Aurors requested to attend to this matter as well_
> 
>   * **Gringotts Bank - TOP SECRET**  (refer to notes on vault 1225, as clearance levels permit)
>   * **Wizengamot Administration Services, Second Floor of M.O.M**. - Reports of at least 4 cursed snowballs chasing Wizengamot members
>   * Obliviator Headquarters -  Accidental mass obliviation during routine research exercise, all obliviators currently unable to remember the office password.
>   * **Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour - Diagon Alley** \- reports of a minor revolt outside the storefront as it has run out of season flavor - peppermint ice mice and Christmas pudding. Reports of at least one person being hexed, further reports still coming in.
>   * **Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes - Diagon Alley -**  Unprecedented surge of accidental magic during store opening, no reports on how much merchandise was damaged, but Accidental Magical Reversal Squad has been requested for backup
>   * **Quality Quidditch Supplies - Diagon Alley** \- shipment of new Firebolt 3000’s has been delayed due to inclement weather, store owner currently requesting backup as he's locked inside his storeroom hiding from angry parents demanding their product before Christmas tomorrow.
> 

> 
> _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - subject matter requires discretion, Auror H.J. Potter requested as sole responder_
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _Head Auror Gawain Robards_
> 
> _P.S. Potter, once you’re done with Hogwarts business I want you specifically supervising your team in Diagon Alley. It’s too close to Christmas for this level of disorder, the storefronts need today’s business and are relying on our Department to restore order as soon as possible. I’m sure you won’t disappoint me._

 

With a sigh Harry grabs his robes off the hook behind his desk, throwing them on almost haphazardly and gulping down his tea so fast it burns his throat. So much for getting home on time he thinks, pocketing his wand and heading to the Inter-Departmental Floo.

His trip to Hogwarts takes him exactly two hours and fifty-two minutes from start to finish, and by the time he leaves he questions whether he ever truly understood what it must have been like to have had him as a student, with such a propensity for rule breaking. He wonders if he were really as bad as the two students he’d just left shaking in their boots with McGonagall, smiling to himself as he reaches for the floo powder above the fireplace in the Headmistresses office.

Diagon Alley proves to be much more of a headache, if only because by the time he arrives, Ron is in a complete strop about the Auror’s lack of respect for their Entrepreneurial Privacy related to their trademarked inventions, unhappy with the level of hostility he’d received when he refused to disclose what exactly was in the destroyed products. It takes Harry all of twenty minutes and a private word with Ron before everything is back in order, the storefront cleaned up and repaired, and two children still sporting pig’s tails and parrot beaks discreetly whisked away to St. Mungo's.

The situation at Quality Quidditch supplies turns out to be not quite as in control as he is initially led to believe, because as he pushes the door open an angry mob of parents descend on him, wanting to know what the Aurors plan to do about them being cheated out of their brooms thus leaving their children emotionally scarred and horribly disappointed.

It’s on the tip of Harry’s tongue to remind them all that if their worst fear this year is not having the right broom they ought to be a bit more bloody thankful it's all they have to worry about, but he closes his eyes and counts to ten, reminding himself that the longer it takes to clear this mess up the longer it will take him to get home.

It takes another hour before he can leave Diagon Alley, having not been prepared in the least for the intensity of people’s reactions to not being to get the right flavor of ice cream. He didn’t even realize anyone was strange enough to eat ice cream while it was snowing, a sentiment he hadn’t actually meant to say out loud and which earns him a few dirty looks and a stinging hex to the arse which he pointedly ignores, having no desire to arrest someone’s father on Christmas eve over a sweet treat.

He gets back to the office just as Robard’s is leaving, and despite his best attempts to not make eye contact Robard’s spots him immediately, clapping him on the back for his fine work, and asking him to please sign off on the last few cases, as he is eager to get home to his wife. Knowing he is in no position to deny a direct request from his supervisor, Harry plasters on a polite smile, just barely restraining his disappointment. He sends a quick owl to Draco with his apologies, before heading back towards the floo and out towards Gringotts.

By the time he is finally able to make it home, it's well past nine, his stomach is growling and he has a massive headache.

“Draco?” he calls, surprised to find the kitchen dark. He pokes around finding two plates under a warming charm and a headache potion set out on the dining table. He pops the cork, downing it gracefully and sighing in relief as the pain beings to ebb away immediately.

He expects to find Draco curled up on the couch reading, but the living room is empty, lit only by the twinkling fairy lights on the tree and the dying embers of the crackling fire. There is a book and blanket on the edge of the couch, but no Draco in sight.

With mounting curiosity he heads down the hallway, pushing the door open to find Draco sitting at the end of their bed, his hands clasped tightly and that same unreadable expression on his face.

“Hey, there you are. Sorry I’m late. Things were a bit crazy today.”

“That’s alright, really.” Draco shoots him a smile, but there is something behind it that makes Harry’s stomach begin to swirl with uncertainty. “Could you open the door now, please?”

Draco sounds so serious, and Harry cannot begin to imagine what has Draco looking so tied up in knots. He reaches out, squeezing Draco’s leg in what he hopes is a reassuring manner, before moving to stand in front of the advent house for the last time. It doesn’t take long before he finds door number twenty-four, smack dab in the middle with a tiny gingerbread house painted below the red and green numbers. It makes him smile as he opens the door, but his smile is replaced with a frown when he realizes the door is empty.

“Draco, what the—” But the words die in his mouth as he turns around to find Draco before him, kneeling down on one knee with his right hand outstretched, a small gold ring poised between his fingers. “Bloody fucking hell,” Harry whispers, his heart suddenly threatening to burst out of his chest.

“Harry James Potter,” he begins, “I know I don’t say it a lot, but I love you. I will always love you. Will you do me the honour—” But he doesn’t even get the words out before Harry is tackling him to the floor and kissing him.

Draco’s hands come up to pull Harry close, laughing into the kiss. “You’re supposed to let me finish, you impatient wanker.”

Harry pulls out of the kiss, looking down at Draco laying on the floor, his hair fanned out on the carpet, the ring still gripped tightly in his hand and the anxiousness of before replaced with a look that can only be described as hopeful. “Is this... is this why you were nervous before?”

“I wasn’t nervous,” Draco insists, but the pink stain on his cheeks says otherwise.

“You couldn’t have possibly thought I’d say anything but yes,” he whispers, unable to think of a world in which the sheer magnitude of his feelings for Draco aren’t so obvious he might as well have a flashing sign above his head that says  _‘I want to spend my life making Draco Malfoy look at me like I’m the most precious thing he’s ever had the grace to know.’_

“I - uh, of course not, but you know.”

Harry doesn’t know, not entirely. “I love you. I always will. Of course, I want to marry you. Fuck, yes!” Harry shouts, trying to grab the ring but Draco swats at his thigh playfully.

“Unhand that this instant, you heathen. As the one proposing it's my job to put it on your finger.”

“Is this some sort of Pure-blood tradition?”

Draco snorts. “No, its called being romantic, you berk.”

“Oh,” Harry mumbles, surprised at the swell of emotions he feels when Draco slides the ring onto his finger. He has to close his eyes because it’s too much somehow, and while he’d never consciously allowed himself to think about it, he realizes how much he’d told himself growing up this was something he could never have. First because, as the Dursleys had always told him, he thought he was worthless, and then once he’d finally realized how wrong they had been. It was because he had thought it was something he would be able to have with a man.

Harry can’t quite explain it even to himself, just feels almost dizzy on the knowledge that everything he is could possibly be something someone else would want to be theirs forever.

“Harry... look at me,” Draco urges, voice gentle as his thumb sweeps across Harry’s cheek.

Harry opens his eyes, inhaling a deep breath, before pulling Draco up, kissing him as if he might die if he doesn’t touch him and taste him everywhere, unable to slow the movement of his hands, sliding underneath Draco’s shirt and tugging it off.

“Fuck,” Harry whines, hands shaking as he fumbles to get Draco’s trousers undone. “Fucking zippers.”

Draco makes a small noise in the back of his throat, lifting his hips off the floor and helping Harry take them off.

“You’re still wearing far too much,” Draco murmurs, and Harry adjusts himself to give Draco better access, lifting his arms up as his jumper is pulled off and shimming out of his jeans as Draco pulls them down.

Draco leads him to the bed next, pushing him back against the pillows and crawling up his body, laying down on top of him before kissing his way across Harry’s neck.

“Please.”

“Please what?”

“Make me yours,” Harry begs, squeezing his eyes shut against the assault of tears he feels threatening to escape.

“You’re already mine, Harry. You always will be. Always,” Draco promises, voice firm as he reaches down to lift Harry’s hand and press a kiss atop the ring.

Harry’s entire body shudders at the touch, and it might have only been a chaste kiss but he doesn’t think he’s ever felt anything more erotic than Draco’s warm lips against the cool metal against the ring on his finger.

Harry keens as Draco’s fingers slide into him, stretching and preparing him almost as carefully as the first time they’d done this, but with the confidence of someone who knows how to elicit every response, pulling to moans from Harry’s body as easily as if Draco were manipulating an instrument.

It isn’t urgent or desperate, but it is intense in a way that takes Harry’s breath away as Draco pushes inside of him, linking their fingers and rocking their bodies together.

Harry almost closes his eyes, wanting to make it last, but he can’t take his eyes off the sight of Draco moving above him framed by the moonlight, his hair falling softly into his eyes and his muscles flexing and quivering. It’s a strange thing to feel as if this somehow changes nothing and everything all at once.

Harry pulls Draco down for a kiss, groaning against Draco’s lips and unable to hide the intensity of his feelings as his hands shake on Draco’s face, “I love you so much.”

“I love you,” Draco echoes, looking equally overcome.

Harry wants to say more, but his thoughts become a tangled mess of want and desire and emotions so intense he doesn't even have the right words to express them. And then Draco angles his hips, slamming into Harry’s prostate making him dissolves into a mess of moans and groans, arching and thrusting and pleading until they’re coming together, collapsing in a tangle of sweaty, sticky limbs.

“So,” Draco begins, his breath warm against Harry’s cheek. “Was it everything you expected?”

Harry tries to think of a response that could possibly encompass all of the things he is feeling. There doesn’t seem to be one. From his position on the bed he can see the advent just over Draco’s shoulder, and for all that Draco likes to pretend that he isn’t sentimental or emotional, Harry knows he is both in equal measure. It makes something warm settle in his chest, knowing that while the advent might be ending, whatever it started will remain long after its tucked away in the attic.

“It was more. It was perfect. You’re perfect, thank you.”

Draco puffs out a funny noise that sounds almost like a sob, his arms tightening around Harry. “Of course I’m perfect.”

Harry laughs, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, stroking his hands up and down Draco’s back soothingly long after the other man has drifted to sleep. He lays there for a long time, a sense of overwhelming peace floating over him. It isn’t until he looks at the clock on the end table that he realizes it’s well past midnight.

“Happy Christmas, Draco,” he whispers, closing his eyes and drifting to sleep with the knowledge that for the first time in his life he wants for absolutely nothing.


End file.
